


Guillermo the Heartless

by HeartlessMemo



Series: Guillermo the Heartless [2]
Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: After care, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claustrophobia, Dark, Dark! Vampire Guillermo, Death, Death Wish, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Feeding, Homophobia, Human Familiar Nandor, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex, Orgy, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Role Swap, Sex Slave, Simon runs a train on Nandor, So many flashbacks, Social Anxiety, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, a mega feed for me--the angst energy vampire, past hypnosis abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: '...Now, Guillermo has his human so well trained that his praise is reward enough. Nandor craves it like a drug. He begs for it, degrades himself for it. And Guillermo, heartless as ever, takes pleasure in watching the pathetic human mewl for his attention. For his love.Love. He’s fully aware of Nandor’s little human feelings for him. He’s heard him crying out through the ether in his sleep. Master, master! I love you I love you I love you. How stupid to fall in love with someone like Guillermo. How inevitable.'---Guillermo is a vampire and Nandor is his human familiar.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Series: Guillermo the Heartless [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956469
Comments: 281
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been encouraged.  
> Poor Nandor.  
> Enjoy????

_“You could throw me down and walk on me  
And I'd just look on through my love and through the haze.” --Nightingale, Saves the Day_

Guillermo the Heartless looks down at his flushed, panting familiar spread out for him like a needy sacrifice. Nandor's mouth is open and every few seconds a keening moan falls from those luscious lips as he works himself open with frantic desperation. 

"That's good, Nandor," Guillermo praises, his cold eyes fixed on the throbbing vein in his familiar's cock. He can hear the thundering rush of blood flowing to the human's genitals. "You better be ready for me by the time I finish undressing. Because I'm fucking you no matter what."

The human makes a strangled sound and adds a third finger to the two already stretching and scissoring his hole open. Nandor is a vision like this. His long, dark hair, usually kept up in a sensible bun, cascades over his shoulders, tendrils falling across his face and sticking to the sweat on his brow. Guillermo’s gaze lingers on the dark hair covering his broad chest and extending down over his soft belly where his heavy, untouched cock weeps precum.

“Yes, master,” Nandor’s deep, accented voice is at odds with the tone of absolute submission. “I’ll be ready for you. Please…! I’ll be--I’ll be a good boy for you.”

Guillermo smirks, taking his time folding his sweater and setting it on top of the gleaming black coffin before moving on to unbuttoning his shirt. He relishes how fully his human has surrendered to him. It wasn’t so long ago that the man fought Guillermo over every single kiss and caress. Now, look at him. Fucking himself at his master’s feet, desperate for his cock.

 _This is what you can have when you actually take care of your fucking familiars_ , Guillermo muses with a slight shiver of annoyance.

It was six months ago that he won Nandor in a game of cards from that dipshit Simon the Devious. They call Guillermo heartless, but he’s never starved any of his human thralls. Nandor was skin and bones and deeply suspicious of his new master when he first came to live at the house. Guillermo, recognizing an opportunity, slowly and painstakingly built his familiar back up again. He gave him food, he bathed him, he clothed him and gave him gifts. All Nandor had to do in exchange was submit. It started out slow, with Nandor only being allowed food if he would eat it from his master’s hands. That part was simple. The man was dying of starvation, he put up very little resistance. Guillermo gradually moved on to more intimate training. Kissing, touching, sucking, fucking. And every time Nandor was a good boy, every time he did as he was asked without question, he would get a reward.

Now, Guillermo has his human so well trained that his _praise_ is reward enough. Nandor craves it like a drug. He begs for it, degrades himself for it. And Guillermo, heartless as ever, takes pleasure in watching the pathetic human mewl for his attention. For his _love._

Love. He’s fully aware of Nandor’s little human feelings for him. He’s heard him crying out through the ether in his sleep. _Master, master! I love you I love you I love you._ How stupid to fall in love with someone like Guillermo. How inevitable.

“Turn around, Nandor,” Guillermo injects steel into his voice. “You don’t get to look at me tonight. I don’t like the way you talked back to Nadja earlier.”

Nandor removes his lube-slicked fingers and scrabbles up onto his hands and knees, coming down to rest on his elbows with his ass in the air. He lets out a choked sob at his master’s words and Guillermo is pretty sure he’d seen tears flood his eyes before he turned around. He’s so fucking sensitive.

He kneels down on the lush fur rug and nudges Nandor’s legs wider apart. The tip of Guillermo’s erection brushes the backs of Nandor’s thighs as he leans over his familiar’s back and strokes his hands down his sides affectionately.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Guillermo whispers and the soft tone is what does it. _It always does, that’s why he’s used it._ Nandor starts crying in earnest, his shoulders shaking with heavy sobs. Guillermo feels his cock twitch and bites back a groan before continuing, “Shhh...you can make it up to me if you take my cock like a good boy. You want to make it up to me, don’t you?”

Nandor falls apart, his head slipping down to rest on his forearms as he bawls, “Yes, yes, please, master. I’m good. I’m good!”

“I know you are, sweet boy,” Guillermo breathes and then he lines himself up and sinks into Nandor in one, swift, brutal thrust. Nandor cries out at the sudden intrusion, clenching around his master’s dick until Guillermo is cursing, “Fuck, yeah, baby. You still have a little fight left in you? Even after all this time?”

Nandor, thinking he’s displeased his master again, says in a panicky whisper, “No! No, master. I want it. I want you. I do...please…”

“Shut up,” Guillermo orders, snapping his hips back and watching as Nandor’s ass jiggles with the impact. He kneads his hands into the thick flesh at his human’s hips and pulls him back against him with every thrust. “You’ve done enough talking tonight, don’t you think?”

In truth, Guillermo knows that Nandor did nothing wrong tonight. Nadja can be a drama queen and overly sensitive. She’d come to him to report that his familiar had “talked back to her” when she asked him to assist with retrieving one of her skulls which had inexplicably fallen down the well. Guillermo told her to fly down the well and get it herself and to stop asking _his_ familiar to do dangerous tasks. But Nandor doesn’t know that. And Guillermo likes to keep him on his toes.

“Disrespecting vampires,” Guillermo taunts with a particularly vicious thrust that sends Nandor’s face skidding off of his forearms and onto the rug. “That’s unacceptable behavior, Nandor. Really it’s... _nggh_...it’s enough to make me second guess taking you on as a familiar. I know Simon would be... _ugh_...delighted to have you back in his fold.”

The words are absolutely without any weight. Guillermo would never send Nandor back to live with that asshole. But he _is_ interested to see what kind of reaction he can get from the human. He loves fucking Nandor while he’s crying. His emotions are absolutely... _delicious._

In the months he’s had him, Guillermo has avoided mentioning Simon around Nandor, supposing that the subject would be painful. But now that Nandor’s a healthy, happy little sex slave, Guillermo feels the need to pick at the scab. Still, he’s surprised by what he gets.

Nandor shuts down. His muscles, straining and tense only a second before, relax into dead weight and the man curls in on himself as much as the awkward position allows. Guillermo can hear the faintest hitches and squeaks of suppressed tears and Nandor’s voice, softer than soft, pleading, “ _Please no, no, no, no…”_

Guillermo’s heart--he _does_ have one, despite popular belief--squeezes and he feels the desire to take back his words at once. But that’s not how this works. Not yet, anyway.

“You think you deserve to be my familiar, you disobedient little slut?” Guillermo growls, gabbing Nandor’s hair in his fist and pulling his head back, dragging him up off the floor until his back is flush with Guillermo’s heaving chest. He’s so fucking close now, thrusting raggedly up into his human at this slightly awkward new angle. “Give me your neck”

The words are a familiar command and Nandor obeys at once, reaching up to brush his hair away as he tilts his head to one side. Guillermo leans forward and tears into his human’s throat. His cock finally going rigid and shooting his seed inside Nandor as his mouth fills with the man’s hot, thick blood. 

Guillermo pulls out, his semen slowly spilling from Nandor’s hole as he continues to feed from him. Nandor, _the good, good boy...the best boy, really._..is limp and pliable in Guillermo’s arms. His erection is still aching and hard between his legs and Guillermo idly wonders if he should take care of him tonight. _He has been so good…_

He reaches around and curls his soft, cool fingers around the thick base of his human’s cock. Nandor gasps in surprise and the words trip off his tongue like a prayer, “ _Thank you, master!”_

Guillermo jerks him off perfunctorily and he finishes his feeding. He feels Nandor’s muscles jump and twitch as he reaches his climax, but the human remains unusually quiet. Normally, Nandor is all broken moans and needy cries. Once he’s finished, Guillermo withdraws his fangs with one final lick of the bloody wound. He pulls back, watching Nandor flinch forward and hug his knees into his chest, looking up at Guillermo with a fear and uncertainty in his eyes that hasn’t been there in months.

“Are you going to give me back to Simon?” Nandor asks and his voice is so quiet yet poignant that Guillermo feels as though a tuning fork has been struck inside his chest.

“Come here, please,” Guillermo’s voice is a soft command despite the “please.” He holds his arms out and Nandor crawls forward, burying himself into his master’s side and pressing his bearded face against Guillermo’s soft chest with a relieved sigh.

“I am never going to give you back to that asshole,” Guillermo says, dropping a kiss onto the crown of Nandor’s head and lingering to breath in the sweet, shampoo scent of his thick hair. “I’m never giving you away to anybody, baby. You’re mine. Only mine.”

Nandor’s strong arms tighten around his master’s middle and Guillermo feels his tears trickling down onto his chest. He wonders if Nandor is even coherent enough yet to think about the basic hypocrisy of what Guillermo has just said. Because the vampire does, in fact, give Nandor away from time to time. Loaning him out to Nadja and Laszlo when the couple need a third partner for their sexcapades, ordering him to go down on vampire acquaintances during social gatherings… Guillermo gets off on watching his familiar degrade himself with other vampires. But the part he loves the most is the way Nandor always comes flying back to him after whatever unmentionable deed is done. Eager for praise, desperate for the reassurance of his master’s touch. _His Nandor._

“I love you, master,” Nandor’s voice hitches with silent sobs and Guillermo realizes how much his idle threat has spooked the poor human. Nandor’s never said those words to him out loud before. Not while awake, anyway.

Guillermo cards his fingers through Nandor’s long hair, humming a tuneless melody for him and resting his cheek on the top of his head. 

“I know you do, baby,” he acknowledges, and that’s all Nandor is going to get.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nandor is nervous about his ex-master, Simon the Devious, coming to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well...here I am again. Second night in a row. Writing this cursed smut. Bon appetit. I need to update the tags to add like...Stockholm Syndrome...uhhhh oral sex...hand-feeding?? Past hypnosis abuse...
> 
> UPDATE: Added an amazing photo manip by the talented and wonderful [rosewell893](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewell893/pseuds/rosewell893). Thank you!!!

“How do I look?”

Nandor secures the final button on his master’s cardigan and steps back. Guillermo is dressed in dark wash denim jeans, gleaming patent leather shoes, a black dress shirt and one of his signature sweaters--the black and gold striped cardigan. Nandor’s eyes roam up and down the vampire’s body, lingering on his favorite parts: his full, round belly, his thick thighs, the deceptively soft-looking hands, the stubbled edge of his jaw...his pouty lips. Nandor swallows, a blush visible above the line of his full beard.

“You look _beautiful_ , master,” He answers truthfully, meeting Guillermo’s eyes for a second before quickly lowering his gaze. Guillermo has never punished him for admitting to his impertinent attraction and... _feelings_. But Nandor still feels the raw edge of panic whenever he feels as though he’s let too much slip out. 

The vampire steps closer, reaching out and wrapping impossibly strong hands around Nandor’s biceps, squeezing gently. Guillermo could easily break his arms, liquefying his bones with the flick of a wrist. Nandor thinks about the scars on his legs, his arms, his chest, his back. _No, no, no. Guillermo will never hurt him...not like that. Guillermo is good. Guillermo gives him food and clothes and he buys him books and movies. He doesn’t force him to live in a cage no bigger than a dog crate. He doesn’t glamour him into paralysis and torture him. He doesn’t...He isn’t…_

“Baby...” Guillermo’s soft tone cuts through the invasive thought spiral consuming Nandor’s mind, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Nandor clears his throat, looking up and holding his master’s gaze as he responds, “I’m just...a little nervous…”

Guillermo lifts his hands to cup Nandor’s cheeks and Nandor flinches dramatically before settling into the soft touch. His ass still stings from the spanking he’d received the previous night for questioning his master’s plan. He doesn’t want to be bad again, but he’s so scared…

“Because Simon is coming,” Guillermo states, not really needing a confirmation but Nandor nods anyway. 

“Mmhmm,” Nandor squeaks and then remembers himself, “Yes, master.”

Guillermo smiles at him, finding something about all this amusing, and Nandor’s heart skips a beat. His master has a megawatt smile and it feeds his soul to see it, even if he’s unsure whether or not Guillermo is laughing at him or trying to comfort him.

“Have you eaten yet?” Guillermo asks and Nandor’s brain takes a second to adjust to the rapid change of topic.

He shakes his head slowly, big brown eyes looking down into his master’s with a childish look of guilt.

Guillermo huffs a laugh, “Were you waiting for me?”

Nandor nods, letting his lips curl upward in a cautious smile. Guillermo rolls his eyes. 

“Alright. Come on, baby.”

Guillermo leads the way into the back of the house to the little kitchen. They don’t always do this anymore, but Nandor is feeling especially shaky and vulnerable tonight. Being fed from his master’s hand was once a degradation that filled him with burning embarrassment. Now it’s the ultimate comfort to Nandor. It makes him feel small, cared for and--most importantly--safe. His master cares about him enough to cook for him and feed him with his own hands. 

“What do you feel like having?” Guillermo asks, opening up the cupboards over the stove to peer at the contents. Nandor looms at his side. He’s far taller than his master but, somehow, he feels smaller in his presence. He reaches up to the top shelf and pulls down a can of beef stew, handing it to Guillermo wordlessly. 

The vampire grabs a pot from the rack beneath the cabinets and opens a drawer to get the can opener. He looks up at his human with an arched brow, “Do you want to sit down or do you want to _cling_?”

Nandor is practically glued to his master’s side, his fingers delicately clutching the knit fabric of his sleeve as he watches him dump the contents of the can into the pot. 

“Is it okay…? If I...cling?” Nandor’s voice is barely there. But it _is_ there. And even if his words come out as a pathetic, hopeful question, at least he _has_ words. He still remembers the months on end that Simon kept his brain locked down, denying him the ability to speak, to cry, to scream. It took weeks after he came to be Guillermo’s familiar before he felt safe uttering a single word.

He’s watching his master’s face like a hawk, gauging his reaction and trembling in anticipation. Is he annoyed? Angry? Disgusted? Finally, Guillermo smiles and Nandor is almost light-headed with relief.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he answers and Nandor thinks that the look he gives him is almost warm. Like maybe he’s feeling the same way that Nandor feels. Like Guillermo is the ocean and he’d willingly drown just to feel his embrace.

He watches Guillermo stir the soup, condensation fogging the thick-rimmed glasses that he only wears out of habit and because they look cool. He picks up a spoonful and holds it out to Nandor to test.

“Hot enough?” he asks and Nandor nods. “Alright. Go sit at the table.”

The chair squeaks as he pulls it out and Nandor folds his long body down into it, looking like a giant at the rickety old kitchenette table. Guillermo comes over and sets down a bowl heaping with steaming hot stew. He takes a seat beside Nandor and turns to face him, dipping the spoon into the bowl and holding it up before his familiar’s lips. Nandor locks eyes with him as he leans forward, opens his mouth and takes the food off the spoon. He feels a thrill in his chest to be so thoroughly taken care of and he thinks the gleam in Guillermo’s dark eyes means that he’s enjoying it, too. He hopes so. He scoots forward in his seat until their knees brush together, needing the added comfort of physical touch.

Guillermo gives him another spoonful and starts talking while Nandor chews, “I’m going to tell you how things will go tonight. I’m taking care of you right now and I’m gonna take care of you tonight when Simon and his crew arrive. We’re going to meet in the fancy room. You’re going to sit at my feet like you always do. You don’t have to speak, you don’t have to even look at him if you don’t want to. But you have to be there, alright? Do you think I liked having to hurt you last night?”

Guillermo sets down the spoon and his eyes are suddenly intense as he waits for an answer. Nandor shakes his head, swallowing before speaking, “No, master. I’m sorry--”

“I know you’re sorry,” Guillermo cuts him off. “I am too. But I had to teach you. I’m your master, Nandor. If I tell you to do something, you do it. And you trust that I won’t ask you to do anything that would cause...permanent damage.”

He holds up another spoonful of stew and Nandor stares at it for a minute, his throat rapidly convulsing as a single tear rolls down his cheek. Guillermo sighs.

“If you’re a weepy mess when Simon gets here, I swear... _What is it?_ Speak,” he commands with a sharp edge of warning in his voice.

Nandor takes a shaky breath, wanting desperately to ask something but terribly afraid of what the answer might be. His mind flashes back to social gatherings, parties, where Guillermo had lent out the use of his familiar’s warm mouth to his vampire guests. 

Nandor finally forces himself to form the words, “Are you going to l-let them... _use_ me?”

_Please don’t make me say it._

Guillermo takes in a sharp breath and holds it for a long, silent moment, during which Nandor wonders if his master is picturing him gagging on his ex-master’s dick with tears running down his face. He knows Guillermo likes it when he cries. 

Finally, mercifully…

“No, Nandor,” Guillermo says, stirring the stew and once again lifting the spoon to his lips. “No one but me will touch you tonight.”

\---

Nandor stands in the front hallway quietly coming apart. He’s still attached to his master’s side and he can’t seem to keep his hands from seeking out and subtly touching him. His long fingers flutter at the hem of Guillermo’s sweater, clinging to the fabric like a security blanket. Guillermo is largely ignoring him. He glances down at his watch with an annoyed frown. Nadja and Laszlo stand on the far side of the hallway.

Laszlo suddenly pipes up, “I say, Guillermo, any chance of a quick nip before Simon’s posse arrives?”

He makes a show of eyeing Nandor and mimes biting him. Nandor shrinks even further into Guillermo’s side. 

“Fuck off, Laszlo,” Guillermo grunts and Nandor almost weeps in gratitude. Instead he does something unthinkably bold. He leans down and drops his head onto Guillermo’s shoulder, nuzzling his face into the vampire’s smooth, cool neck. Throughout his time as Guillermo’s familiar, Nandor has become increasingly needy in terms of physical touch. Once he started to trust Guillermo and then, later, to love him, he began to seek out small touches from him whenever he was in need of comfort. Tonight, Nandor is especially needy.

The doorbell rings and Guillermo shrugs his shoulders, dislodging his familiar’s head. One of the thralls, lower than familiars but still above victims, answers the door and allows the vampires inside with an obsequious bow. Simon the Devious, flanked by Count Rapula and Mr. ‘50s, strides into the house like he owns it. Nandor shudders and keeps his gaze firmly fixed to a spot on the floor.

“Guillermo! Nadja! Laszlo! I haven’t seen you since you stole my favorite little pet!” Simon’s voice is booming and obnoxious. Nandor’s grip on the back of his master’s sweater tightens but he remains otherwise perfectly still. 

“Good evening, Simon,” Guillermo greets, perfectly unaffected by Simon’s grandstanding. “You’re late, so why don’t we get straight down to business, then we’ll have more time to enjoy the virgins waiting in the cell.”

Everyone shuffles into the fancy room. Simon takes a seat on one couch with his crew members standing stoically behind. Guillermo takes the opposite couch, Nadja and Laszlo remain standing and Nandor sinks to his knees at Guillermo’s feet with an intense feeling of relief. On the floor he’s beneath notice. He can hide his face in the side of his master’s thigh and tune out the vampires’ territory negotiation happening over his head. He feels Guillermo’s fingers sink into his hair and begin stroking him as he makes his opening offer. Nandor sighs, wrapping his hand around Guillermo’s ankle and shutting his eyes, maybe he can fall asleep…

“You certainly have him well-trained, G-man…”

Time has passed. Nandor had floated away into his head for a while, lulled by the rhythmic motion of his master’s fingers in his hair. But now the business portion of the evening seems to be wrapping up and Simon’s voice cleaves through the air, penetrating the little protective bubble that Nandor has imagined around himself. His fingers tighten on Guillermo’s ankle.

“Maybe he just prefers my company over yours, Simon. I hear you find it rather challenging to keep human help. _Alive_ , that is,” Guillermo’s voice is soft but full of lead. 

“You’re so hilarious, G! The dreadful Guillermo the Heartless, gone soft for a pathetic human pet,” Simon laughs and then his tone changes and Nandor knows, without looking, that the vampire is addressing him directly now, “You might think you’re living high now, human, but you’ll always be the same mewling insect who begged me to kill him--”

Nandor can’t help it. He feels the sob clawing up his throat and he presses his face desperately into his master’s thigh to try and muffle it. If he’s weepy, Guillermo will be angry, he’d said so in the kitchen…

“Nandor,” his master cups his jaw, angling his face up to look at him. Nandor’s heavy brows are drawn together and his eyes are glassy but he’s trying to keep it together. “Do you want to show Simon what a good familiar you are now that you have the _right_ master?”

Guillermo leans down and presses his lips to Nandor’s ear speaking lowly, “Pretend it’s just you and me, baby.”

Guillermo’s hands go to his belt buckle and Nandor understands at once. His face flushes a brilliant red but he moves into position at once, kneeling between his master’s spread legs and waiting expectantly as Guillermo reaches into his pants and frees his half-hard dick. 

“Thank you, master,” Nandor says and he speaks louder than he likes so that Simon will hear him clearly. His master wants to show him off, wants to show Simon how much better a master he is than him. Nandor wants to help him. He bends forward and wraps his hand around the base of Guillermo’s cock, licking a long, wet stripe along its length before taking the head into his mouth and beginning to suck. He loses himself in the familiar task, forgetting his fear and anxiety and instead focusing on pleasing his master.

He hears Simon’s voice vaguely in the background, sounding a little defeated but attempting to rally, “I believe someone said something about a virgin feast?”

There’s some movement and commotion and suddenly he hears his master’s voice, slow and heavy with the influence of his hypnotic power, “You will sit down next to me and give me your neck.”

Guillermo’s hands never leave his familiar’s hair, stroking and petting gently as Nandor drools around his length and bobs down, attempting to take more of him down his throat. The victim, utterly mindless, jostles Nandor as they clamber onto the couch, baring their neck.

Guillermo shoves the human back and says, “You will be more careful of my familiar. Now put your neck in my mouth.”

Nandor knows the exact moment that Guillermo begins to feed. His master’s fingers tighten in his hair and he starts rolling his hips up, thrusting into Nandor’s mouth enthusiastically as he drinks his fill from the human. 

“Fucking show off…” Simon mutters darkly.

But Nandor doesn’t hear. He’s completely unaware of everything else in the room, in the world, except for his master’s hands and cock and the sounds he’s making low in his throat as he drinks the virgin dry and fucks Nandor’s mouth. The victim falls to the floor at Nandor’s side and Guillermo presses his hands down on the back of Nandor’s head, holding him down as he ruts against his face, finally finishing with a smug sigh. He lets go of Nandor’s head, trusting that his familiar knows to wait until he’s finished spilling his plentiful, vampiric seed in his mouth. Nandor’s throat convulses as he swallows and swallows, breathing hard through his nose and straining to look up and meet his master’s gaze. His eyes are pleading and vulnerable. Begging his master for what he needs. 

Guillermo’s blood stained lips quirk into a smile and he obliges, “You are such a good boy for me, Nandor. So, so good.”

“Alright, alright. We get the picture,” Simon grumbles in the background as Nandor finally pulls away from Guillermo’s softening dick. His lips are swollen and his jaw aches but when he turns to see that Simon’s crew is getting ready to leave, having finished their business and sated their unholy hunger, he feels nothing but overwhelming relief and happiness. 

“If you ever tire of my leftovers...I’ll be happy to take him off your hands,” Simon remarks casually as he strolls toward the door.

Guillermo’s voice is as cold as granite as he replies, “That’s not going to happen.”

\---

Nandor lies in the cramped twin bed wedged into one corner of Guillermo’s crypt. His master told him to go to bed, relieving him of his valet duties for the evening as a reward for his good behavior. Nandor watches Guillermo moving about the room, blowing out candles, slowly getting undressed and ready for his slumber. He hopes he’ll come and kiss him goodnight before getting into his coffin, but he doesn’t want to push his luck by asking. 

Nandor’s eyelids feel heavy. The stress and fear of the evening have taken their toll and he’s barely clinging to consciousness when he feels a weight on the mattress beside him. 

“Move over,” his master’s voice sounds tired, too, and Nandor wonders if maybe Guillermo had been just as worried about the meeting tonight.

Nandor shifts closer to the wall and swallows his shock when Guillermo climbs all the way in with him, drawing the blankets up over both their bodies and wrapping an arm around Nandor’s large frame. 

“Master?” he asks breathlessly. They’ve never...just slept together before. 

“Shhh, Nandor,” Guillermo murmurs, placing a kiss to the back of Nandor’s neck. “Go to sleep.”

[artwork by rosewell893]


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nandor and Guillermo dream... Both men seem to be concerned with one particular condition of Nandor's service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, did you think this fic was dark before? Because hold onto your butts...  
> I've added to the tags: **suicidal ideation, death wish**
> 
> Also there is a brief mention of farm animals being used for food, as an analogy for the way Guillermo keeps his human familiars for a period of time before eating them. 
> 
> HUGE thanks and credit to [Interrobam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobam/pseuds/Interrobam) and [uv_duv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uv_duv/pseuds/uv_duv) for their dark influence and basically letting me feed off the powers of their imaginations to fuel this nightmare.
> 
> EDIT: I've added some amazing, show-stopping, gorgeous artwork by [sinaesthete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinaesthete/pseuds/sinaesthete) to the end of this chapter.

Guillermo dreams of murdering his familiar. 

He’s always done it in the past, after a year or so, after he’s gotten everything he wants from his human pets. He doesn’t make a show of it. He’s not unnecessarily cruel to them in their final moments. It’s just something that has to be done.

In the dream, Guillermo leads Nandor by the hand into the fancy room--which is _wrong_ , he’d never do it in one of the common areas. He gestures for him to sit down on the couch and Nandor grins at the rare treat of being allowed on the furniture. Guillermo feels a rush of warmth at his familiar’s obvious delight but it’s quickly quenched by the solemn knowledge of what he’s about to do.

He sits and turns to face him. Nandor’s wearing his hair down, cascading around his face just how Guillermo likes it. The prominent ridge of his brow line and the strong line of his nose are at odds with the soft, vulnerable look in his bottomless brown eyes.

“Are you going to turn me into a vampire now, master?” _Why would he ask that?_ That’s never been part of their arrangement and Nandor knows it.

But Dream Guillermo nods with an indulgent smile on his lips, “Yes, Nandor. You’ve been such a good boy for me. You deserve a reward.”

Guillermo knows it’s a lie, but he lets his familiar believe it. It’s kinder this way. Nandor’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and pulls his hair back, baring his neck and tilting his head to the side as he whispers, “I love you, master.”

Guillermo bites. In the dream he can’t taste Nandor’s delicious blood but he feels it hot and heavy sliding over his tongue and down his throat. Guillermo gulps him down, draining his human past the point of return. He feels Nandor’s body going slack in his arms and an edge of panic seizes him. _What is he doing?_ He pulls back, gasping with Nandor’s lifeblood dripping from his lips. The familiar’s face is ashen and utterly lifeless. Guillermo feels a sting of tears that he hasn’t felt in decades and he clutches the dead human to his chest with a ragged sob. That’s when he hears the voice.

“You think you’re any better than me?” Simon the Devious laughs and laughs and laughs…

Guillermo is pulled awake by the sound of his name whispering through the ether. He stirs, slowly shedding the lingering panic of his dream and cracking his eyes open. Nandor, the great, sweet, giant of a man, is curled into a ball with his head pressed into Guillermo’s chest and his sharp knees poking into the vampire’s belly uncomfortably. He whimpers pathetically in his sleep and Guillermo smiles, forgetting the sorrow of his dream as he drinks in his familiar’s soft little cries. He places his hand lightly over Nandor’s bearded cheek and gently reaches out through the ether to enter his familiar’s dreamscape.

Guillermo is standing in the middle of the dance floor at the Sassy Cat Club. He’s surrounded by dark shapes, menacing figures that undulate in slow motion to the beat of a song he can’t hear. There’s a stage on the far side of the room and a spotlight illuminating a single cage. Nandor stands inside of it, naked, his body rolling and jerking along to the same silent melody. But his eyes...his eyes are absolutely terrified. They flick back and forth over the crowd, seeking and pleading as his body moves against his will. Then Guillermo hears his familiar’s voice even though the man’s mouth remains closed.

_“Master, please! Please, help me! Please don’t leave me here!”_

Guillermo falters forward a step, choking out, “I wouldn’t! I won’t--”

Then he catches sight of the man materializing out of the shadows around the stage. The figure walks right past Guillermo and stalks up to the cage. The stark lights of the club flash on his face. One second illuminating Simon’s mocking sneer, the next revealing Guillermo’s own cold, calculating face. 

“ _‘Master, master, don’t leave me!’_ Fucking pathetic,” the hybrid creature mimics Nandor in Guillermo’s own voice. Guillermo is both horrified and fascinated, standing rooted to the spot and watching his familiar’s face remain perfectly stoic as his eyes broadcast the depth of turmoil brewing underneath Simon’s powerful hypnotic influence.

“What should we do with him?” Simon’s voice asks and Guillermo’s answers.

“I’m done with him. Let’s kill him and start over with someone less boring…”

“ _No!_ ” Nandor draws out the word into a miserable wail that pierce’s Guillermo’s gut.

“No?” Simon laughs. “You asked me. You _begged_ me to kill you.”

“He wanted me to kill him, too. In the beginning,” the false Guillermo remarks, his eyes tracing dispassionately over Nandor’s straining, sweaty body. “He cried he was so _grateful_ when I told him I’d do it after his term of service. What? Now I’ve made you fat and happy, you think you’re worth more than a year of my time? _You?_ ”

Nandor’s disembodied voice goes silent, but Guillermo can feel the man’s misery like a heavy weight on the back of his tongue, making him want to gag. He walks forward, mounting the steps leading up to the stage and proceeding straight through the back of the amalgamated apparition, dispersing it into a cloud of vapor. He stands there looking in through the metal bars at Nandor, who is suddenly in possession of his body once more. 

“M-master?” His voice is hoarse from disuse and Guillermo can see his strained muscles jump and twitch under the flushed, sweat-slicked skin. 

He takes another step forward and suddenly he’s inside the cage with Nandor, standing chest to chest and looking up into his human’s distraught face. 

“It’s me,” he says, wrapping his arms around his shaking familiar. He leans his head against Nandor’s heaving chest, taking his own comfort in the feel of the solid, strong heartbeat beneath his cheek. “You’re alright now, baby.”

Nandor collapses into his master’s embrace, clinging to Guillermo’s smaller frame as if he isn’t a six foot three oak tree. Guillermo brings his hand up to cradle the back of the man’s head, rocking him slightly and murmuring soothing words. It takes him a moment to notice that Nandor’s cries have transformed into hushed words whispered into the skin of his neck.

Guillermo takes him by the shoulders and holds him at arm’s length, looking up at him questioningly

“What are you saying?”

Nandor hangs his head and Guillermo can feel the shame and fear rolling off of him.

“I--I don’t want to die anymore, master,” Nandor whispers. “Please…please I want to stay...with you…”

Guillermo feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, but the sensation is nothing to the one that comes when Nandor’s eyes focus on his face with a quizzical furrowing of his brow and he asks, “Master, whose blood is that on your mouth?”

Guillermo drops his hand from Nandor’s cheek, flying backwards, out of the human’s mind and into his own corporeal body once again. He stares at his familiar’s sleeping face, soft and serene now that his nightmare is over. 

“Fuck,” Guillermo whispers under his breath, rolling off the bed and making his way over to his empty coffin.

\---

**About Nine Months Prior…**

“So, are you ever going to talk to me?”

Guillermo sits in the plush armchair in his crypt, idly stroking his fingers through his new familiar’s hair. He’s had the man for only a couple of weeks and already he’s addicted to touching those soft, long locks. Nandor kneels at his feet, his body locked in perfect stillness beneath his master’s touch. He holds himself like a skittish dog, his shoulders rounded inward, making himself appear smaller even as his muscles tense, anticipating the sudden, irrational violence he’s come to expect from vampires.

_His master wants him to speak. It isn’t safe to use his words. Master Simon likes him silent. If he speaks he’ll be punished again. Nandor just wants the pain to stop. He just wants to stop being afraid all of the time. He wants…_

“That’s alright,” Guillermo sighs. “I was just wondering what type of reward my new familiar would like for being such a good boy for me. You’ve been doing so well, Nandor. Eating your meals, getting big and strong again, learning how to serve me, how to take my touch. I’d like to reward you...but I’ll have to wait until you can tell me how…”

Nandor makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, attempting speech for the first time in months. Guillermo’s hand in his hair pauses as he waits patiently for his familiar to finally find his words.

“Kill...me…” Nandor grunts before letting his head fall into his master’s lap, hiding his face in his thighs. It’s the first time that Nandor has voluntarily sought any physical contact with Guillermo and the vampire smiles in satisfaction despite the off putting request.

“ _Kill you?_ ” Guillermo laughs, arching his dark brows ironically. “ _That’s_ how you want to be rewarded?”

Nandor doesn’t look up, keeping his face pressed to his master’s thighs as his shoulders hitch with a silent sob. 

“Master...I mean, S-simon...was going to do it. That night. He promised me. And then...and then you won me and I...I just want to be done.”

Guillermo goes back to stroking Nandor’s hair, cooing softly in sympathy at the human’s admission.

“Look at me,” he commands, tapping his fingers gently on the top of Nandor’s head. The familiar responds to the light tone of authority at once, craning his tear-stained face upward to look into the cold depths of his new owner’s eyes. “Simon was never going to kill you, Nandor. That asshole loved torturing you. He bragged about it all the time. Trust me. It was never going to happen.”

Tears slip out of the human’s eyes, rolling down his cheeks into his thick beard. Guillermo regards him silently for a moment, a small frown on his lips. He’s never had a familiar actually ask for this. Guillermo considers himself a compassionate carnivore. He keeps familiars like a farmer might keep a favored cow or pig, with the knowledge that eventually they’ll be led to slaughter. But there’s no reason to diminish the quality and value of his familiars’ lives in the meantime. Guillermo expects obedience, humility...devotion, even. But he also gets off on providing for his human pets, giving them praise and treats to brighten their limited days. In the past, death has always come as a surprise for the familiar and a long-expected finale for the vampire. 

But...if this human truly wants nothing more than death, perhaps Guillermo can set his mind at ease with the knowledge.

“Come up here, please,” Guillermo pats his thigh invitingly and Nandor scrambles up onto his Master’s lap. He responds to command so nicely already, Guillermo muses. He can’t wait to play with him once he’s a little more recovered. He wraps his arm around Nandor’s back, encouraging him to loosen up and lay his head down on Guillermo’s shoulder.

“I know you want to die right now...” Guillermo’s voice is a hushed whisper that brushes across Nandor’s forehead. The human shuts his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the sound of his new master’s quiet voice without fearing that, at any second, the influence of hypnosis might be injected into the words. Guillermo hasn’t used that power on him once since he’s been here, though Nandor has witnessed him using it on thralls and victims.

He nods his head silently and Guillermo drops a quick kiss to his forehead. Nandor’s breath momentarily escapes him. Simon never once touched him without hatred and anger fueling his violence. 

Guillermo continues, “I know, baby. And I’ll do that for you...eventually. Once you’ve finished a year of service. It will be quick. I won’t hurt you. It’ll feel just like falling asleep. Does that sound nice?”

Nandor is crying in earnest now. He clutches the front of Guillermo’s thick sweater in his hands and chokes out, “Yes. Thank you, master.”

Guillermo parts his lips, baring his fangs and breathing in with a look of exultation over his familiar’s exquisite pain and angst. He can’t believe his luck. This one is so deliciously sensitive and soft. He’s going to be a delight to take apart.

Guillermo hardens his voice slightly and adds, “But it’s only fair that you work hard to serve me and be good for me this year, right?”

Nandor nods and Guillermo gives him a squeeze before pushing him back down onto the floor. Nandor falls back into place, only this time his body is loose and relaxed. He leans his forehead against Guillermo’s knee and the tips of his fingers just brush over the soft leather of his master’s shoes. 

“Good boy, Nandor.”

\---

Guillermo lies awake in his coffin with the phantom taste of Nandor’s blood and tears in his mouth. He stares up into the darkness thinking about Simon’s taunting laughter and his familiar’s desperate words. _Please...I want to stay...with you…_

But those were only dreams.

[Art by [sinaesthete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinaesthete/pseuds/sinaesthete)]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOES ANYONE ELSE FEEL LIKE GUILLERMO IS HALF REGULAR VAMPIRE, HALF ENERGY VAMPIRE???


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guillermo attempts some casual cruelty and discovers he's not as heartless as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Spiff and Poppy for your crazy creative brains helping to add to the bonkers lore of this nightmare sideshow!!
> 
> Angst, ahoyyyy!

It’s Colin Robinson who first helps Guillermo to understand his special vampire power.

“Sounds a lot like what I do,  _ daddy-o _ !” This is sometime in the later 1950s. “Feeding off the emotional energy of those around you, vampires and humans alike. Neat-o! We could be brothers!”

Guillermo’s ability to feed off other vampires helps him gain power despite his relatively young age. Nadja and Laszlo ally with him because he can protect them from Simon’s crew. It’s the reason he holds dominion over Staten Island and the reason Simon is so jealous. It’s also the reason he keeps human familiars as bed slaves.

Nothing is more decadent than the emotional feast of a human who’s been broken down and taught to submit to his power. They’re so deliciously conflicted. He makes them feel humiliation and shame while at the same time evoking feelings of lust, affection and even gratitude. Guillermo is addicted to this heady mix of opposing emotions. He’d thought he’d never find a more satisfying blend...until Nandor went and fell in love with him.

\---

“I want you inside me, tonight,” Guillermo pants into his familiar’s lips, grinding his aching erection against Nandor’s to emphasize his point. Guillermo woke for the evening with the sour taste of Nandor’s miserable dream still in his mouth. The image of Nandor, broken and crying, in the dancing cage at Simon’s club has settled into his brain. Usually, the vampire would be savoring his familiar’s angst but...for some reason the taste has gone bad. All he wants now is to erase Nandor’s pain and make him feel good.

He’s got Nandor pinned up against the crypt wall. Guillermo hovers off the ground to give himself the leverage to hold the large man still while assaulting his mouth with languid, bruising open mouthed kisses. He’s not careful with his fangs and Nandor’s mouth is a bloody mess.

“R-really, master?” Nandor breathes the words. His mouth falls open into a beatific smile and his brown eyes are dazed with lust. He looks and feels delightfully undone. 

Guillermo nods, cupping his human’s bearded jaw and forcing his head to one side so that he can drag his fangs down the long column of his throat. He leaves behind thin, jagged lines beading with blood and laps at them with a broken groan before answering.

“Would you like that baby? Do you want to make your master feel good?” Guillermo’s voice is low and harsh, a taunt that goes straight to Nandor’s cock. The mewling human nods immediately.

“ _ Always _ , master…”

They migrate over to the little bed in the corner. Nandor frantically tugs at his clothes, discarding them haphazardly onto the floor as he crosses the room. Guillermo watches with amusement, the human’s clear excitement is too pure to ruin by scolding him about the mess. He removes his own layers with more practiced control, neatly folding and stacking them on the chest that serves as Nandor’s nightstand and storage container. He climbs up onto the bed, letting his legs sprawl open and lazily stroking himself as he watches Nandor rummage through the dresser at the end of the bed. He finds what he’s looking for, a half-empty bottle of lube, and scrambles up beside Guillermo with a little grin on his lips. 

Nandor cradles the bottle against his soft belly, tucking himself under Guillermo’s arm and resting his head in the crook of his master’s shoulder. 

Nandor’s voice is quiet and soft in the still solitude of the crypt. The room that has been...just a room to Guillermo for decades and which he is suddenly starting to think of as “their room.” The place where he’s broken Nandor down and built him back up. Where he’s listened to the human’s whispered confessions and desires and where he’s drunk so deeply from him, body and soul.

“Can we…” Nandor stops and Guillermo reads the human’s hesitance and anxiety in the curved lines of his shoulders and the way he tucks his face into Guillermo’s chest.

Guillermo brushes Nandor’s hair aside, revealing his pinched expression.

“Go on,” Guillermo whispers. “Tell me what you want.”

Nandor’s throat bobs as he swallows before asking, “Can we kiss some more, first?”

Guillermo’s chest swells almost painfully. He moves his hand to caress over the ragged cuts on Nandor’s lips as he asks, “Aren’t these hurting you?”

Nandor blushes brilliantly and Guillermo feels his mouth flood with saliva. 

“We could be careful…” Nandor suggests, his eyes darting to meet his master’s with a hopeful expression. 

Guillermo smirks, revealing one wickedly sharp fang, “Alright. We’ll be careful, baby.”

He sinks down into the pillows and lets Nandor lead. The human leans over his master, his hair falling down to tickle across Guillermo’s cheeks before he swipes it back over his shoulder. Guillermo watches Nandor’s dark eyes slowly trace over his facial features, his free hand cups Guillermo’s stubbled jaw and he lets out a quiet gasp.

“You’re so handsome, master,” he murmurs reverently, brushing his thumb across Guillermo’s cheek and just looking at him. Nandor spends so much time kneeling at his master’s feet or respectfully averting his eyes when they’re in company...when he gets the chance to look he likes to savor it. Guillermo is doing much the same. Nandor’s strong dark brows and thick beard are a thrilling contrast to the soft, liquid vulnerability in his eyes. Guillermo reaches up and strokes his fingers through Nandor’s thick hair, noting with a pitiful little frisson, the scattering of gray at his temples. Nandor is a decade older than Guillermo was when he was turned. And the life he’s lived has been far more harrowing than anything Guillermo experienced in his human years.

“I’m so lucky…” Nandor whispers, directly contradicting the morose direction of his master’s thoughts.

He bends down and presses a soft kiss to Guillermo’s pouty mouth. His battered lips move slowly and tenderly over his master’s. The vampire holds himself back, content to lay and receive Nandor’s kisses rather than taking over and ravishing the man’s mouth. He parts his lips when Nandor’s tongue seeks entrance. The human expertly avoids his master’s sharp fangs, delving deeper to stroke along Guillermo’s tongue as his hands shyly explore the rest of his body.

Nandor’s palms are rough and hot as they rove over Guillermo’s cool skin. The vampire arches into his human’s touch, gasping against his lips and delighting in the sharp wave of pride emanating from Nandor. His human likes to make him feel good. His human is also surprisingly verbose when Guillermo puts him in charge.

“Master, I want you so bad. My beautiful master...I love you so much…”

Guillermo marvels at how free Nandor is with his words when he’s like this. Only the other day he’d felt fear and anxiety when he first admitted his love out loud… He wonders if this is something close to how Nandor might be with a human lover. Or...with any lover who was his equal rather than his master. Guillermo feels an inexplicable spike of irrational jealousy at the thought. 

Before he can dwell, Nandor’s fingers wrap around his erection and his brain finally stops working. Nandor strokes him just right, catching the bead of precum from the tip of his cock and smearing it down its length. He scoots back on the bed, catching Guillermo’s eyes with a sparkling glance before lowering his mouth down onto him. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ …” Guillermo whispers, his hands sinking into Nandor’s hair automatically and pressing on the back of his head. “ _ Good boy _ , Nandor…”

The human hums in response to the praise and the vibrations go straight into Guillermo’s dick, wrenching a shuddering gasp from his lungs. As Nandor starts to suck, he fumbles blindly on the bed looking for the discarded lube. Guillermo grabs it and presses it into his familiar’s hand. He pulls away with an obscene pop and smiles up at Guillermo as he pours a generous amount onto his fingers. 

“Ready, master?” Nandor asks. Guillermo-- _ Guillermo the Heartless _ , known for his cruelty and cold demeanor--thinks his human is cute as a fucking button. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m ready,” Guillermo whispers. 

Nandor places his hands on the insides of Guillermo’s thighs, gently spreading his legs open wider. He places one slick finger to his master’s entrance and slowly, gently pushes inside. Guillermo’s cock twitches against his soft belly and Nandor’s eyes fix on it hungrily as he starts slowly pumping into him. 

Nandor bends forward and licks a long stripe up Guillermo’s rigid cock before taking him into his mouth once more. He adds a second finger to the one already probing his master, gradually working him open. Guillermo squirms and pants under his familiar’s attentions. He’s still undoubtedly in control as he is in every aspect of their relationship...but the playacting of giving himself over to Nandor is intoxicating. Not to mention the waves of lust, contentment and pride coming off the human as he works his master into a messy fervor. 

“That’s enough...I’m ready…” Guillermo finally pants, fisting his hand in Nandor’s hair and pulling him off his cock. “Fuck me, Nandor.”

“ _ Yes, master! _ ”

Nandor scrambles to his knees and flashes Guillermo an unguarded smile as he slathers lube onto his own straining erection. He lines himself up with his master’s entrance and pushes forward in one swift motion, the way he knows he likes it. Guillermo grunts, his whole body is pushed upward on the bed with the impact of Nandor’s powerful hips and he collides sharply with the headboard.

“Oh!” Nandor cries, “I’m sorry, master.”

He grasps Guillermo’s fleshy hips and drags him back, holding him in place as he fucks into him. Guillermo adjusts the angle of his pelvis, taking Nandor even deeper and crying out softly each time the human bottoms out inside of him. Nandor is a big man, in every sense. Being fucked by him feels like being ravaged by some ancient warrior. How the hell he managed to be born into this modern day and not 800 years ago Guillermo doesn’t know. But he’s glad.

“Is this good, master?” Nandor checks, his eyes half-lidded and a blissed-out smile on his lips. His hair is in a wild disarray and sweat is starting to slick his chest and shoulders as he works. 

Guillermo grunts, fisting his hands into the sheets as he answers, “ _ So good _ , baby--”

The door of the crypt suddenly blows open and Laszlo appears in all his ostentatious glory. He’s dressed in a velvet frock coat, blood-red cravat and a wide-brimmed hat with floral accents. He saunters into the room and takes in the scene before him with a lecherous grin. 

“Oooo, what do we have here? I was going to invite you along to hunt with my good lady wife and myself. But I see you’ve already found quite the catch,” Laszlo laughs smarmily at his own joke, his eyes raking over Nandor’s exposed body. 

Nandor cries out in alarm as soon the door opens. He’s grasping at the sheets and attempting to cover himself and his master when Guillermo slaps his hands to stop him. The vampire, completely unaffected by being caught naked with his human familiar’s cock up his ass, regards Laszlo with a menacing gleam in his eyes. On impulse, on instinct, and because this sort of thing has always been so delicious in the past, he offers Nandor to Laszlo.

“You want a bite for the road?” Guillermo suggests, gesturing to his human’s flushed, sweating body. 

Nandor lets out the softest squeak of protest and the air begins to change around them as his arousal flags and fear and anxiety take its place.  _ Yum yum _ , Guillermo thinks.

“You’re too kind, Guillermo. Don’t mind if I do…” Laszlo saunters over to the bed, coming to stand beside Nandor and baring his fangs in a hungry leer. 

_ “M-master, please--” _

“Bite your tongue, rapscallion!” Laszlo interjects and then he’s latched onto the side of Nandor’s throat like a leech, his teeth penetrating deep and painfully as he takes a long pull of Nandor’s blood.

Guillermo is still lying on his back, his legs straddling Nandor’s waist. The human has gone utterly still. Guillermo squeezes his thighs impatiently and Nandor’s eyes fly to his.

“ _ Keep moving, _ ” Guillermo orders, his voice falling back into the cold, aloof tone of Guillermo the Heartless. 

Nandor lets out a breathy cry but he replaces his hands on Guillermo’s hips and stutters into a ragged rhythm, interrupted by hisses from Laszlo and his own pained cries. Guillermo’s eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips, drinking in the heady emotional miasma surrounding him.

It’s...putrid. Where once he would have delighted in the combination of lust, pain and fear, now he feels only disgust. He opens his eyes and looks up at his human’s face, pinched in pain with tears slipping down his cheeks. Nandor attempts, valiantly, to keep servicing him, but Guillermo can feel the human’s erection softening inside of him. More overwhelming than the human’s pain is the heavy cloud of sadness bleeding out of him with his blood. Guillermo drops his legs and pulls back, Nandor’s cock abruptly falling out of him as he sits up and hauls the human out of Laszlo’s grip. 

“That’s enough,” Guillermo growls, thunder in his voice. 

Laszlo puts his hands up in mock innocence, “No need to get testy! I was going to stop before he passed out…”

Guillermo glowers in response and Laszlo bows appeasingly as he backs out of the room with Nandor’s blood staining his mouth. When the door clicks shut Guillermo finally turns back to his human. Nandor is clutching the wound on his neck and leaning into Guillermo’s chest with an anguished look on his face. 

“ _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… _ ” he mutters over and over again as tears fall uncontrollably. 

He may as well be stabbing a stake through Guillermo’s heart.  _ What is happening to him? _ Ever since that night, when Nandor said he loved him...it’s as if a spell has been cast over Guillermo. He’s always excelled at detaching himself from his own emotions, even as he feeds off those of others.  _ What’s changed? _ Earlier, when he couldn’t get the taste of Nandor’s dream out of his mouth, he’d thought it had something to do with Simon and his special brand of cruelty that had nearly broken poor Nandor. But now even the trauma inflicted by his own cruelty is poisoned. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, gathering Nandor to his chest and rocking him slowly. “I’m--I’m sorry, Nandor. You thought you were getting a special treat and I--I ruined it.”

Guillermo’s insides are twisted and his heart is on fire. He reaches back into the recesses of his human memory and wrests one single word from the old Guillermo’s vocabulary.  _ Guilt _ . He feels guilty. Nandor whimpers, His blood is pouring in sticky rivulets down his neck and dripping onto Guillermo’s chest. The smell invades the vampire's nostrils, settles in his mouth, but he ignores it. 

“Stop being sad,” he says, trying for authority and instead coming off as lost and utterly desperate. He needs Nandor to be happy again because when Nandor is happy it makes Guillermo happy. His human memories tug at him again as he ponders this circumstance but he shrugs them away, intent on finding a quick solution. “Nandor, tell me what to do for you? What do you need, baby?”

Nandor sniffles and hiccups as his sobs quiet down. He’s still curled up and leaning into Guillermo for comfort, his head nestled beneath his master’s chin and his hands fluttering lightly over his chest. He takes a breath as if to speak but no sound comes out. Guillermo ducks his head and catches Nandor’s gaze, raising his brows in expectation.

“Could we…could we pretend? Just for a little while. Could y-you...tell me you love me?” Nandor breathes the words in a thready whisper and then his eyes widen in panic and he hastens to add, “You don’t have to mean it, master. I just...want to pretend like we’re...like you’re my…”

His words fade into silence and he holds himself in a tense ball of anxiety as he awaits Guillermo’s reaction. If Guillermo thought this would be a quick fix to his guilt problem he was sorely mistaken. Nandor looks so open, vulnerable and pleading and Guillermo feels lower than Simon the Devious. Simon, at least, is evil for evil’s sake. He doesn’t force his weak, fragile familiar to fall in love with him, all the while breaking the man down until he’s so pathetic and needy that he fears asking for even the smallest amount of affection. Simon may have broken Nandor’s psyche with his years of abuse, but Guillermo has had him for less than one year and he’s broken the man’s heart.

Nandor mistakes Guillermo’s silent reflection for rejection and more tears slip free as he whispers, “Please, master.”

Guillermo takes a deep shuddering breath and he presses a firm kiss to Nandor’s sweet forehead before speaking the words that feel like an incantation.

“I love you, Nandor.”

\---

“Huh,” Colin Robinson frowns and shrugs his shoulders, leaning back in the ridiculously squeaky office chair he recently purchased from a garage sale. He regards Guillermo with furrowed brows and he shrugs, “You can’t stomach feeding on his pain anymore… you’re feeling compelled to make him happy all the time… If I didn’t know any better, G-man, I’d say you were in love.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nandor has a night in while the vampires visit Simon's to continue their territory negotiations. Nandor ruminates on his life before Guillermo and how much things have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Graphic descriptions of Non-Con sex in this chapter. Mentions of suicide attempts.

_ “I love you, Nandor.” _

The words float to the surface of Nandor’s mind and he lets the paperback drop down onto his chest as he relives his memories from that night a week ago. He blocks out the hurtful way Guillermo so casually offered him up to Laszlo. Inviting the other vampire to interrupt what was, to Nandor, a special and even sacred moment. Instead he focuses on the memory of Guillermo’s strong arms holding him and how he felt when he heard those words, words he’s longed to hear for so very long, in his master’s sweet voice. He shuts his eyes and calls that voice to memory.

_ “I love you, Nandor.” _

Nandor lets himself pretend again. He imagines that his master really meant it. What would being loved by Guillermo the Heartless feel like? He thinks of being cherished, being worshiped the way that he worships Guillermo. He could still serve his master,  _ of course _ . In the last year Guillermo changed something inside of Nandor, unlocking a secret part of him that yearns to serve his beloved master. But maybe...maybe Guillermo would also serve  _ him _ . Nandor pictures Guillermo kneeling at his feet, nuzzling his face into Nandor’s knee while Nandor gently pats his head.

_ Oh. _

Nandor’s hand strays to the growing bulge between his legs and he palms himself through his sweatpants. Guillermo-- _ his _ Guillermo--on his knees, looking up at him with eyes round and pleading, his perfect little hands dancing up the inside of Nandor’s thigh…

“N-nandor?”

His eyes snap open and he shoves the book down across his lap, sitting up against the couch cushions and looking round to see one of the thralls standing in the doorway to the fancy room carrying a tray of food. 

“Dinner?” his voice is ragged and he clears his throat, watching the waifish woman slink into the room with her head bowed respectfully. “Thank you," he says as she sets the tray down on an end table.

She nods and makes a beeline for the door. Nandor watches her flee with a strange feeling of unreality. Technically, he is the highest ranking human member of the household. So, in the rare instances when all the vampires are away, like tonight, he is in charge. It’s an odd feeling to be an object of respect and even fear for the thralls. They’re all terrified of doing anything to offend Guillermo’s prized familiar. Some of them have served here since before Nandor came along. He wonders if they knew Guillermo’s past familiars. He wonders if the feelings he sometimes imagines his master showing for him are at all unique. Or if he’s just another in a long line of short-lived companions. The thought dulls the happy little fantasy he’d been enjoying and his thoughts drift into a darker vein, recalling his life before Guillermo.

Nandor was 19 years old when he met Simon. He was just a young, dumb college kid looking for a night of fun and dancing with his friends. They didn’t know the Sassy Cat was a vampire club. They didn’t know the eerily beautiful strangers dancing with them were after something more than a one night stand. His friends were lucky; none of them made it through the night. But Nandor caught the eye of Simon the Devious, a sadist and a collector. Simon kept him for  _ twenty years _ . More than half of Nandor’s life was spent as the plaything of a vampire whose idea of a good time was breaking a human’s will with hypnosis and pain.

Being Simon’s familiar was nothing like serving his current master. Simon never had a kind word or a soft caress for him. He didn’t feed him from his hand or take care of his bite wounds or hold him when he was hurt and sad. And while Guillermo might prey on Nandor’s emotions, it’s nothing compared to what Simon did to him all those years.

The early days are fuzzy. He remembers being scared and confused. He’d been kidnapped by some freaky satanic cult or something. But his disbelief gradually eroded as night after night Nandor was made into a meal for Simon and his crew. The blood drinking was bad enough. The vampires would take their fill until Nandor passed out, weak and sick with blood loss. Simon’s idea of caring for his familiar was to keep him in a cramped cage and toss him rotten scraps left over from the bar at the end of the night. The food made Nandor sick, but after a while he was so hungry it didn’t matter and he would snap up the half-eaten appetizers and moldy lemon wedges. 

The worst part was yet to come. After about a month of this, Nandor had lost twenty pounds. He was skin and bones and suffered from chronic blood loss. Physically, he was weak as he’d ever been. And then Simon decided to have some real fun with him. One night he ordered Nandor to strip, injecting his voice with the power of hypnotic suggestion for the first time. Nandor remembers the feeling of clawing terror in his throat as his body moved against his will. He was trapped within his own mind, internally rebelling against the command even as his body moved to obey. He couldn’t even speak his dissent. Simon had done something to him, used his vampiric power to lock Nandor into a prison of his own body. He kept Nandor in this state, off and on, for the next two decades. 

Simon brought him to a vampire orgy, the first of many. He walked into the party, flanked by his entourage with Nandor, fully nude, on his arm. Nandor walked calmly at his master’s side. The only sign that he objected to any of this was the glassy, feral panic in his eyes. But he couldn’t act on his fear. If he could, he would have strangled Simon. He would have slammed his fists into the vampire’s face until it was nothing more than bloody pulp. But instead, he meekly obeyed every command, recognizing the gleam of pleasure and satisfaction in his master’s eyes. Simon got off on this. The vampire had him walk through the ghoulishly appointed banquet hall. He led him to the center of the room and explained the game with pompous enthusiasm.

“I’ve brought a little treat for you all to enjoy. Sadly, he’s no virgin. But this strapping boy has some fire in him, to be sure. Take your pleasure from him! Do what you will! Give him a command and he will obey. I ask only that you refrain from killing him as I’d like to get a few years out of him at least…”

Remembering that night still sends a shiver down Nandor’s spine. Each and every vampire at that orgy had their turn. They waited in a queue. They watched with lecherous eyes. They critiqued his body, loudly and cruelly. All while Nandor lay, slumped over a padded bench like a rag doll as he was raped over and over and over again. At first he tried to scream, but no sound could escape his lungs. He would open his mouth, strain his vocal chords, but something in his brain short circuited each time. He was mute, helpless, and trapped in his own mind as they used his body. 

Some of the vampires wanted his ass, some wanted his mouth. The women ground down on his face and ordered him to lick or else they caressed him into an unwilling, shameful erection and rode him. There was no lag time between assaults. Just as Nandor was trying, desperately to get his breath back after gagging on one vampire’s erection, another would come and take his place. After a while Nandor stopped trying to break free of the psychic chains. His mind went as limp as his body. Close to the end, Simon sauntered over with a devilish, satisfied smile on his lips. He watched as some anonymous vampire took Nandor from behind, his eyes clouding with lust. Simon didn’t avail himself of Nandor’s holes. Instead he took out his erect penis, brushed the hair from Nandor’s face and stroked himself until he spent all over Nandor’s slack features. It was at this moment that Simon decided to release the hypnosis. Nandor didn't even have the strength to wipe the filth from his face. He had no will to fight. He lay there, ashamed and broken, for the rest of the orgy.

After the first few years Nandor started to think about death. He’d been through peaks and valleys of hope and despair. Failed escapes, suicide attempts...finally he turned to the only person who had the power to end his suffering, Simon himself. He begged and bargained with him. He promised he’d do whatever Simon wanted, no hypnosis required. But nothing could tempt the vampire. Nandor was too delicious, too achingly sensitive, too drop dead gorgeous to just throw away.

The night that Guillermo won Nandor in a game of cards was the night that Simon first noticed the new gray hairs at Nandor’s temples. The vampire scowled, grabbed Nandor’s face with bruising force and yanked every offensive strand out by the root. Compared to other tortures he’d suffered this was tame. And Simon’s angry words as he pulled Nandor’s hair held some promise of relief. 

“I can’t be parading some haggard old geezer of a familiar in front of those Staten Island snobs!” Simon hissed with a vicious pinch to Nandor’s side. “If you really want me to kill you then you’ll fix yourself up nice and pretty for me tonight…”

In those days, Nandor yearned for death more than anything. More than escape, more than food, more than a caring touch. He wanted death. And he thought he was on the cusp of finally getting his wish but then Guillermo played the winning hand and Simon shoved him into the other vampire’s lap with a furious shriek of envy. He was always a sore loser.

_ But now…  _

Now that Nandor has a master whose face makes his heart stutter, whose praise warms his soul and who makes him want to be  _ good good good _ for him forever… Nandor doesn’t want it to be over yet. Guillermo’s promise at the start of all this, that he would give Nandor the death he craved after a year, has turned into a doomed sentence hanging over his head. There are moments when he imagines that his master must feel the same way that he does. Guillermo must care. Nandor may have clung to him the other night after Laszlo left...but Guillermo was holding on just as tight.

All these morose thoughts and memories have turned Nandor’s stomach, but he forces himself to eat. His master wouldn’t like it if he skipped dinner.

\---

When the vampires finally return home Nandor is still in the fancy room. It’s about an hour to sunrise. He’s wrapped up in an over-sized throw blanket with his voluminous mane swept up into a messy bun atop his head. He’s just nodding off, the _Harry Potter_ book slipping from his limp hand, when the front door bangs open. 

“Well, that was a shit show,” Colin Robinson’s voice echoes from the front hallway, sounding less mild than usual. 

“I agree with Colin Robinson!” Nadja boils with fury. Nandor tucks his legs under him and burrows deeper into the blanket. “Guillermo, you are going to eat the great big boy toy in a month or two anyway! Why not trade him to Simon to save us going to war over a few city blocks!?”

Nandor’s heart leaps into his throat and sweat breaks out on the back of his neck. He holds his breath, waiting for his master’s response but whatever it is, it’s too low for him to hear. Nandor bites his lip, letting his head fall to rest on the back of the couch as he listens to the vampires shuffle out of the hallway to their respective crypts. Guillermo would never send him back to Simon. He knows this. But it’s frightening to hear it so casually mentioned as a solution to the vampires’ territory disputes. And then there’s the other thing.  _ Two months. _

Guillermo wanders in a few minutes later. He looks paler than usual and his face is pinched with tension. Nandor immediately stirs in his nest, shifting to slip down onto the floor but Guillermo stops him.

“Stay,” his voice is soft. He sits down beside Nandor, pulling the blanket over him and shifting Nandor’s legs so that they’re draped over his lap. The tension in Nandor’s chest gradually eases. He loves when his master is domestic. 

“You look comfy,” Guillermo smiles, taking in the sloppy bun and the well-worn sleep shirt.

Nandor nods, he’s feeling bold in this soft, quiet moment so he reaches out and takes his master’s hand in his, squeezing his fingers gently, “How did it go at...at Simon’s?”

Guillermo sighs, twining their fingers together before he answers, “Not great. He’s...completely unwilling to budge on the border lines in Brooklyn.”

“ _Fucking guy_ ,” Nandor hisses under his breath. “It’s my fault, master. Simon is throwing a tantrum because you stole his f-favorite toy away. He won’t give in. He cares too much about what his crew is thinking of him…”

Guillermo’s eyes focus on Nandor with an appraising look, as if he’s noticing for the first time that his familiar has a head on his shoulders. 

“If Simon doesn’t relent then we’ll just have to kill him,” Guillermo answers, his tone is light and matter of fact. A tremor runs through Nandor’s body. The idea of his precious master going up against Simon the Devious grips his heart with terror. He knows his master is strong, but Simon is pure evil. Guillermo may be able to drain other vampires, but Nandor’s not sure Simon has any emotions to drain. Guillermo wraps a hand around Nandor’s foot, gently massaging and stroking as he remarks, “You look like you’re having some serious thoughts.”

“I don’t want you to die, master,” Nandor admits, his voice quiet and unsure. His master knows about the depth of his devotion by now, but it still feels scary to talk about it. 

“Who says I’m going to die? You don’t think I can handle Simon the Grevious Pain in my Ass?” Guillermo scoffs, his voice is light but his eyes are still dark and serious. 

“Of course you can,” Nandor says dutifully, scooting closer so he can burrow beneath his master’s arm. He rests his head on Guillermo’s soft chest and exhales, trying to let go of his questions, his fears, his anxieties. “I love you, master.”

Guillermo hums in response, Colin Robinson’s words ringing in his ears. Nadja’s casual remark about Nandor’s expiration date weighs on his mind. If Nandor is to die anyway-- _ and really it would be best for everyone wouldn’t it? Avoid a war. Finally give his sweet human some peace _ \--then it won’t matter if Guillermo gives him this small thing. This small thing of admitting, in the quiet pre-dawn atmosphere of the fancy room, the truth of his feelings.

He presses a kiss to Nandor’s forehead and strokes his fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck.

“I love you, too,” he whispers just as Nandor’s soft snores announce that the human has fallen asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions with Simon come to a head and the other vampires confront Guillermo with an ultimatum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's just a bit more darkness and angst to muddle through before things start looking a little more positive. Ughhhh this story is bonkers. Sorry! I promise there's going to be a good ending. Hang in there.

A dead body on the lawn isn’t necessarily anything new. The fact that it’s accompanied by an unkindness of ravens cawing and flapping round the house like a tornado of black feathers and razor sharp beaks is...a little more troubling. When Guillermo hears the first anguished shriek from the front hallway, he knows that he has a serious problem.

“It’s Nina! It’s Nina! She’s...oh my g--!” the middle-aged thrall chokes on the last syllable. Powerful hypnosis bars all the thralls from speaking holy words. His voice strangles into a wheezing squeak.

“Calm down, man! What is it?” Laszlo grabs the man’s shoulders and snaps his fingers unhelpfully in his face. 

“N-nina! Nina...It’s Nina…” he keeps repeating. 

Laszlo turns around and catches Guillermo’s eyes with a look of wild confusion, “Who the fuck is Nina?”

Guillermo starts to shake his head when Nandor’s voice sounds from over his shoulder. He’d barely even registered his familiar trailing behind him out of the crypt, walking with rounded shoulders and his head lowered in subservience as he tugs on the hem of his master’s thick sweater.

“Nina...she was one of the thralls…”

Guillermo looks over his shoulder to find that Nandor’s eyes are fixed on the sight of the woman’s broken, twisted corpse through the open front door. He turns quickly, standing between Nandor and the grisly image and cupping his bearded jaw in both his hands.

“Look at me, baby,” Guillermo whispers, waiting for Nandor’s haunted, misty eyes to meet his. “Why don’t you go back to the crypt, okay? I’ll be back after I deal with this.”

Nandor stays in place, his body frozen but his eyes flashing as he hisses, “It was Simon, wasn’t it? He wants me back...please, master don’t make me go back there…”

“ _ Nandor! _ ” Guillermo’s voice is as cold as the grave and harder than Nandor has heard it in some time. The familiar visibly wilts at his master’s angry tone. “Do I need to teach you about listening again? Go back to the crypt and shut the door.”

Guillermo watches Nandor slink away, looking like a whipped dog. But he doesn’t have time to address the flare of guilt in his chest or the warring instincts to punish his impudent human and also to comfort him. He has a dead body to deal with.

Nadja, Laszlo and Colin are already standing around the carcass when Guillermo steps out onto the lawn. The ravens are roosting all around the property, in trees and topiary, along the ancient gutters and the crumbling shingles of the roof. The vampires feel their beady eyes watching them from above.

“Look at this!” Nadja hisses, pitching her voice low as if the birds might be listening. She points to a piece of paper pinned to the woman’s chest, “‘Trespasser,’ it says! She was picking up my satin gown from the seamstress on 91st Street! That’s just over Count Verrazzano’s Bridge! This is getting out of hand, Guillermo!

“Not to mention,” she sniffs, holding up a bundle of stained, torn rags, “my dress is ruined!”

“First he’s killing our thralls, next he’ll be sending marauders in the light of day to kill us all in our coffins!” Laszlo’s manicured finger darts toward Guillermo’s chest as he makes his point. “Enough if enough! I know you fancy that lusty warhorse, but it’s time to either give him up or  _ quack _ him!”

Nadja nods emphatically, wiping a fake tear from her eye as she cradles the mutilated gown like a baby. Guillermo pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing and casting a glance over to Colin Robinson. He wonders if the weight of knowledge between them will ally Colin to his side.

Colin at least looks apologetic as he speaks, “I don’t cherish the thought of going to war with Simon’s crew. They outnumber us and he is, as they say, devious. I wouldn’t put it past him to murder you all in your sleep. I’m not a hundred percent sure he’d know how to kill me. I’m not sure _ I know _ how to kill me. But finding new roommates would be a real headache. As you know--”

“Shut up, Colin Robinson!” Nadja interrupts in a shrill whisper and then quickly adds, “Though, ehm, thanks for your support. You see, Guillermo? Something needs to be done. Soon! It’s not just about territory. It is personal to that donkey-brained poser. What is it going to be, your dark family of the endless night? Or your boy toy who’s going to drop dead in a few decades anyway?”

“Good point, my sweet murderess!” Laszlo adds with an officious nod of his head. 

All three vampires turn expectant eyes on their leader. Guillermo has never felt less in control or less sure of a decision. He thinks of Nandor tucked away in his crypt, more than likely kneeling in mortified supplication after Guillermo’s harsh words to him. But out here, beneath the murderous eyes of Simon’s feathery servants and with his followers--his partners--his  _ family _ looking to him for salvation, Guillermo feels his resolve harden. How many hundreds of years combined have they lived? Can he really trade that for a few more months or...or even years with Nandor?

Guillermo’s eyes are chips of flint. 

“I’ll do it.”

\---

It feels as though a heavy leaden weight has settled in his chest as he walks back to his crypt. He pictures a brick or a boulder resting in the place where his heart should be.  _ Guillermo the Heartless _ , that is his name. He mustn't forget.

He finds Nandor just as he expected to find him: kneeling on the plush oriental carpet with his head and shoulders sagging in anticipation of punishment. Guillermo doesn’t want to waste their dwindling time on punishments. But he doesn’t want to surrender to the desire for sentiment and affection either.  _ Which is worse?  _ Distancing himself from Nandor to save his own alarming feelings even if it means making the human’s final days wretched? Or cherishing and clinging to him for as long as possible, though it will be like driving a stake through his own heart? Once again he feels helpless in the face of a decision.

The door clicks shut behind him and he walks forward on auto pilot. He comes to stand directly in front of Nandor, letting the toes of his shoes touch the human’s knees. Nandor doesn’t speak or look up at him, but Guillermo watches with a sickening vine of pity creeping through his gut as Nandor’s hands reach forward, brushing the bottom hem of Guillermo’s tailored trousers and wrapping around his calf. He presses his forehead into Guillermo’s thigh, hugging his master’s leg with a pitiful mewl.

“Use your words, Nandor,” Guillermo’s voice is husky. “I’m not going to punish you. It’s alright.”

The sob that Nandor lets out punches a hole in Guillermo’s gut and leaves a bitter residue in his mouth. He looks down at the top of Nandor’s head, letting his hand stray to the neat bun holding up his familiar’s beautiful hair. His fingers find the thin elastic holding it in place and he releases it. How he loves the fall of his human’s soft hair.

Nandor finally speaks, his voice choking with emotion, “I w-want to be good, master. I’m s-sorry for before. I was just...scared.”

Guillermo’s hands sink into Nandor’s hair and he shushes him, speaking softly in the safe solitude of their crypt.

“Do you need to make it up to me?” 

Nandor finally looks up at him and the air goes out of Guillermo’s dead lungs. His eyes are wide and wet, desperate with hope. Tears streak his cheeks. He looks...ruined and helpless. Is this the great improvement he’s made to his life? Does it matter if Guillermo feeds him and buys him presents and treats him like a favored pet? 

“Yes, master! Please…” Nandor straightens, bringing his face level with Guillermo’s crotch and leaning forward to rub his cheek against him. 

Nandor nuzzles him, mouthing him through his pants and moaning needily. Guillermo feels himself stir and twitch in response to his familiar’s attention, even with the rotten taste of his despair still flooding his mouth. He watches, as if from a great distance, as Nandor fiddles with the jingly clasp of his belt, unbuttoning, unzipping and reaching in to free his master’s heavy erection. He wraps a hand around the base of the shaft and catches Guillermo’s eye with a slight smile before letting his lips fall open and wantonly mouthing at the head. 

“Fuck!” Guillermo hisses, tightening his fingers in Nandor’s hair. 

Nandor takes him into his mouth, delighting in the heavy weight on his tongue. He closes his lips, sucking and laving until Guillermo’s cock is coated in warm saliva. He tightens his hand around the base and strokes him, taking him as deep as he can until drool pools at the corners of his lips. 

Guillermo growls and haltingly jutters his hips into Nandor’s face. His hands stroke through that luscious, soft hair, reaching down to caress bearded cheeks.

“Fuck, baby,” Guillermo murmurs, shaking and holding back lest he lose it and suffocate the man accidentally. “Nandor, you take me so good, don’t you? My good boy.”

Nandor moans, preening under Guillermo’s praise. He picks up his pace, his head bobbing obscenely as the room fills with the liquid sounds of his wet mouth engulfing Guillermo’s hard cock. The vampire’s mouth falls open. He hisses, groans and drinks in his familiar’s golden, fizzing, bubbly emotions. Pride, lust, and--mostly--love. He comes with the taste of Nandor’s love sparking on his tongue. 

Nandor swallows, breathing heavily through his nose as his master empties himself into the back of his throat. Guillermo watches his human’s hips roll and thrust into the empty air, seeking relief for his own erection but unwilling to touch himself without his master’s permission. Once Guillermo finally finishes he pulls his softening cock out of Nandor’s wet, swollen lips and he bends down to place a kiss on that mouth.

This is where Nandor belongs. On the floor with Guillermo’s cum staining his lips. Not taking up dangerous real estate in the vampire’s non-existent heart. Not making Guillermo question his decisions for the first time in decades. Guillermo swallows the rose water flavor of Nandor’s love and grits his teeth, forcing himself to step one foot between the human’s spread thighs and grind his shin into his straining erection.

“You want to come, baby?” his voice is low, taunting. “Go ahead. You can rut on my leg like the little slut we both know you are.”

“Nngh,” Nandor mewls, his brows pinching together and his cock twitching at Guillermo’s words. Guillermo can sense his hesitation, the shivering whiplash of switching from praise to humiliation. A tendril of shame taints the air but it’s laced with unmistakable lust. “Please, please, master. I want to come.”

“Then you know what to do…”

He’s shy at first.  _ He always is, his sweet boy. _ Guillermo’s jaw clenches at the stray thought. Nandor stutters his hips forward, brushing his dick lightly against him. All at once the tension flows out of his body as he leans his whole front into Guillermo’s leg, burrowing his face into the crook where Guillermo’s upper thigh meets his pelvis. He mashes his dick against his master’s leg, dragging it up and down the long line of his shin, slipping down to cup it in the curve of his ankle and humping frantically, breathy, broken moans falling from his lips all along. 

“Please, please, please, master!”

Guillermo looks down at him, his face a mask of cold indifference, “My little greedy whore...why are you begging? Isn’t this enough for you? My pathetic human fucking himself on my leg like a good boy.”

Guillermo is in his element. Dominating, degrading, owning. He pretends that the feelings he’s been experiencing were just a passing anomaly, a strange temporary incident in the life of an immortal. And then his familiar shocks him.

“No, no, master!  _ It’s not enough! _ Please!”

Guillermo is silent for a beat, the only sounds in the room are Nandor’s keening moans and the filthy rustle of fabric as he frots against him.

“What did you say?”

Nandor throws his head back, his long hair dancing over his shoulders and falling down his back, baring his vulnerable face to Guillermo’s gaze. He opens his eyes, dazed with lust, alight with something Guillermo doesn’t recognize. There’s something new in the taste of his familiar. It’s airy and sweet like whipped frosting and confectioner’s sugar. It tastes...playful and confident. Guillermo’s eyes roll back in his head and he considers the real possibility that he might pass out from the heady rush of this new sensation.

Nandor grabs Guillermo’s hand and pulls him downward, pleading, “Touch me, master! Please!”

He drags him by the hand and Guillermo lets himself be bent over, his hand pressed up against Nandor’s bulge. A feather could knock him over. Guillermo is caught between the delicious new tastes swirling in the air and the novelty of Nandor asking--no, demanding something from him. Hadn’t he just been looking at Nandor as some broken thing? Some mewling creature to be humanely euthanized?

Guillermo kneels between Nandor’s spread legs and lets him manipulate his own hand. Nandor presses on the back of his hand, driving the heel of the palm into his hardness and almost weeping with pleasure. 

“Please, master, I’ve been so good!” Nandor cries, letting go of the hand and watching, waiting for his master’s reaction.

What does Guillermo see now as he looks at his familiar? Not a sex slave. Not a servant. A man. Damaged, to be sure, but a man nonetheless. A man asking for something from his  _ lover _ . Guillermo feels a thrill go through him. Why not? If Nandor can pretend sometimes, why can’t he?

“Take off your pants,” he says, but it’s not a command and his voice is soft and light. He’s treading into unfamiliar territory.

Nandor frantically rips open the fly of his jeans and wriggles clumsily out, dragging his briefs down with them and tossing the garments under Guillermo’s coffin. His lips are parted and he’s breathing heavily, his broad chest rising and falling with every heaving inhale. He drags his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face and staring at Guillermo with intense feeling. Longing, anticipation, fear, excitement. His erection is fat and heavy and leaking precum onto the soft fabric of his t-shirt. 

Before he can think better of it, Guillermo bends forward, pushing the shirt up over Nandor’s soft belly and laying gentle kisses into his flesh, trailing down to the thatch of pubic hair between his legs. He smiles, letting his lips come to the base of Nandor’s cock and pressing the softest kiss into his velvet skin.

“M-master?” Nandor’s voice is pure shock. Guillermo’s never done this for him. “W-what are you doing?”

“Shh,” the vampire hushes him, wrapping delicate fingers around his hard length and squeezing. “I’m making you feel good, mi amor.”

And then he opens his mouth and slides down onto Nandor’s cock, taking him to the hilt. Nandor’s head thunks against the floor and he cries out, for once his voice is loud and deep. Guillermo keeps his jaw cracked open wide, carefully avoiding grazing Nandor with his sharp fangs as he sucks, slides and licks the pulsing cock. He feels Nandor’s fingers fluttering near his face, alighting with impossible softness in his curls and stroking reverently.

“Master, that’s...so good! Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he moans and Guillermo can feel that he’s already very close. He can feel his balls tightening against his chin and the sudden twitch of his dick just before. “Master, I’m going--”

Nandor tries to pull out, but Guillermo’s hands lock onto his hips, holding him in place as he takes his familiar’s seed, swallowing it and relishing the novelty. It’s been...a long time since Guillermo has prostrated himself like this.

He finally pulls back, wiping his mouth as he crawls over Nandor’s form and lays down next to him. Nandor looks destroyed. His face is slack except for the slightly upturned lips and he stares sightlessly at the ceiling for a minute before turning to Guillermo and attacking him with an unrestrained kiss. He paws at his master’s face, sliding their lips together and probing with his tongue as tears finally fall down his cheeks. 

\---

They’re lying in Nandor’s bed a little while later, changed into their comfy sleep clothes. Guillermo sits up against the headboard and Nandor is pressed into his side, an arm and a leg draped over him. Guillermo is a little drunk on the intense blend of emotions he’s been feeding from all night. Nandor is pulsing out waves of happy, contented familiar at him. But a spike of anxiety fills the air before Nandor takes a shaky breath and finally breaks their comfortable silence.

“What did you do with Nina?” His voice is soft, barely there.

Guillermo sighs and answers matter-of-factly, “Some of the thralls drove her out to the woods. The garden’s been getting really full lately...sink holes popping up.”

Nandor nods against Guillermo’s soft chest and there’s a long moment of silent suspense wherein the vampire can feel that his human has more to say. 

Finally, “I don’t want to end up in the woods, Master...or the garden…”

Nandor chokes a sob and hides his face in Guillermo’s t-shirt. Guillermo feels ice water pool in his stomach. Is he bullshitting him? Right when he’s decided, for the good of everyone, to sacrifice this happy little arrangement, his familiar decides he suddenly wants to live? Guillermo is angry and frustrated and then, quite suddenly, filled with despair.  _ The woods or the garden _ . He hasn’t...he hasn’t actually thought about what he would do with Nandor after… Simon will want  _ proof _ , he supposes.

Nandor keeps going, sitting up on his elbow and making eye contact, “Master, I’m a good familiar. I know I make you feel good and no one other human will l-love you as much as I do. You could keep me! You d-don’t have to kill me, now, because I’m happy and I love you and I want to stay with you.. _.please _ …”

Nandor’s voice falters as Guillermo’s face sets in stone. He imagines building a brick wall between Nandor and the actual anguish he’s feeling. Guillermo reminds himself of what he has to do. Nandor is forty fucking years old. He’s got--what?--another half-century in him, maybe? Nadja, Laszlo and Colin Robinson have been around for hundreds of years and they’ve put their trust in him as their leader despite his relative youth. He can’t throw that away for a human.

He takes a breath and prepares to break Nandor’s heart.

“But that’s not our arrangement, is it?” Guillermo marvels at how steady his voice sounds. “Haven’t I been good to you, Nandor? Hasn’t this year been nice? I feed you, I take care of you, I give you presents… Can you really ask for more than that?  _ You? _ When I found you, you were...wretched, broken, disgusting. Look at you now, baby. Look what I’ve given you. Simon the Devious is going to start a fucking war if I keep you. Is that what you want? You want your master and his family to fight, get hurt, maybe even die...for you?”

The more he talks the easier it is to pretend that he means any of this bullshit. He can’t have Nandor groveling and begging for his life if he’s ever going to survive doing this.

Nandor looks and tastes as miserable as he’s ever been. He casts his eyes downward and answers, “No, master. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Good, boy,” Guillermo praises but none of Nandor’s usual pleasure or pride accompanies the approval. The man looks utterly defeated. Guillermo soldiers on. “Now, I want you to be a good familiar and not mope around about this, alright? Let’s enjoy the time left…”

“How long?” The question escapes from Nandor’s lips, a winged insect that burns up in the toxic atmosphere between them.

Guillermo’s vision swims with tears but his voice stays cold, “The end of the week.”

“So soon?” Nandor stiffens, his voice trembling.

“Simon is going to escalate things until we put a stop to it,” Guillermo suddenly thinks about how he’d crudely and carelessly flaunted Nandor in front of Simon.  _ How fucking stupid _ . Maybe things could have been different…

Fear and despair choke the air and Guillermo grimaces, swallowing against his own emotions and trying to sooth his human, “It won’t hurt, baby. It’ll be like falling asleep. Won’t that be nice? Your last memory will be me holding you in my arms…”

Nandor doesn’t answer. He falls into a troubled, broken sleep and Guillermo clings to him until well after the sun comes up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guillermo gets emotional and we enjoy a smutty flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the universe of this fic the _Harry Potter_ series was written by a trans woman.  
> For once, I didn't have to *add* anything to the tags for this chapter! We're rounding a corner!!  
> Thanks to everyone on the Nandermo discord who has been helping me and cheering me on with this fic! I love you guys.  
> Super mega thanks to **Sinaesthete** who made a beautiful piece of artwork inspired by this story. You can check it out back in Chapter 3 (scroll to the bottom).

Guillermo is alone in the crypt. Nandor’s off in the library watching TV and no doubt trying to lure a thrall or two into joining him. He’s always trying to make friends with the thralls. But his status as Guillermo’s familiar makes him an object of reverence if not fear among the other humans in the household.

He’s gotten so used to having Nandor at his side or, more often, at his feet that his absence feels unnatural. But that’s kind of the point of this little exercise, isn’t it? Guillermo forces himself to move about the room, taking in all the ways that Nandor has left his mark, all the little physical remnants that will remain of him after…well,  _ after _ .

His breath shudders and he looks around the room with new eyes, observing all the little things that have changed in the space over the last ten months. The bed isn’t new, nor is the dresser. But the clothes pouring willy nilly out of the drawers and the pile of dirty socks at the foot of the mattress certainly are. It seems like every available surface in the room is littered with Nandor’s discarded hair elastics and scrunchies. Guillermo rolls his eyes despite the morose train of his thoughts. He would never have tolerated this kind of sloppiness from his past familiars. But Nandor was so skittish and terrified when he came to him that the first time the man felt comfortable enough to reveal his messy nature Guillermo found it so endearing he’d let it slide. And now here he is inhabiting a crypt that looks like a teenager’s messy bedroom. He picks up the round brush from the chest by the bed and twirls a finger into the tangles of dark hair stuck between the bristles. On an impulse he tugs a snarl free and tucks it into his pocket.  _ What kind of sentimental freak is he becoming? _

Besides the brush and a digital alarm clock, the nightstand also holds a battered paperback copy of  _ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _ . Guillermo runs his hand over the cover and smiles, his fangs denting into his plump lower lip. It was the first thing Nandor ever asked Guillermo to buy for him. He remembers it vividly. He’d had the human for only about a month at that point and it was their first time venturing outside the house together. He wanted to treat Nandor since he’d been doing so well in his training. It was the night after they first had sex...

\---

**9 months ago**

Nandor is doing so well, curled up in his master’s lap like a good little human, arching his neck as Guillermo lavishes wet kisses across his jugular. He’s a needy lump of clay in Guillermo’s hands, panting and moaning as the vampire slides his hands down to cup his buttocks. The human thrusts his hips involuntarily, gasping when his erection comes into contact with Guillermo’s soft stomach through the layers of their clothing. The rumble of Guillermo’s laughter sinks into Nandor’s skin through his kiss and the human fights against the memory that rises, unbidden and unwelcome, to the surface of his mind. 

_ Simon’s cruel laughter as he took him brutally and without any preparation. Nandor’s muscles aching and clenching but immobile due to the vampire’s hypnosis… _

Nandor’s moan breaks into a sob and Guillermo hisses in pleasure as the human’s thick lust is suddenly cut with anxiety. He digs his fingers into Nandor’s ass and drags him closer, physically forcing him to rut against his belly.

“You like that, baby?” Guillermo asks, using the pet name for the first time. It’s enough to shock Nandor from the horrible memory and he locks eyes with his master, warm, rich affection bleeding from his pores. 

Nandor nods his head, obediently using his words to answer, “Yes, master. I like it.”

The human’s large hands rest on Guillermo’s shoulders, limp and useless. He doesn’t know what to do with them. The few times Simon fucked him without hypnosis Nandor had fought against him until he was too weak to do anything more than cry out. But it’s different with Guillermo. He doesn’t want to fight his new master but he’s unsure how much he’s allowed to explore for himself. His fingers itch to bury themselves in Guillermo’s silky curls. He settles for fisting them in the thick fabric of his sweater.

They’ve been doing this for the last couple weeks.  _ Practicing _ , his master calls it. Getting Nandor accustomed to Guillermo’s touch, his body, his soft lips and cool, smooth hands. He isn’t stupid. He knows what they’re practicing for. But when Guillermo pulls back from his assault on his neck, his breath ragged and his eyes cold and flinty as ever, Nandor is still afraid.

“Take off your clothes,” the vampire commands, his voice is soft and nothing like Simon’s, but Nandor still flinches at the tone of authority in his words.

He climbs off Guillermo’s lap, his eyes caught on the sight of the vampire’s obvious erection through his trousers. Nandor’s breath quickens and his lip starts to tremble and all at once he’s furious with himself because  _ he has to be good _ .  _ He wants to be good and why is he crying? _ Guillermo isn’t hurting him. This is what Nandor is! He is a familiar and Guillermo is his master. Why can’t he stop being such a blubbery baby all of the time? Now Guillermo will hate him and what if--what if he stops being nice to him? What if he puts him in a cage and stops feeding him and--

Guillermo watches his familiar undress, lazily palming himself through his pants as Nandor removes his shirt, his jeans, his underwear, all the while the human is breaking down into painful sobs as he desperately tries to follow his master’s command.  _ Oh, isn’t he fucking precious. _

Nandor presents himself before Guillermo, his erection flagging and tears streaking his face. His shoulders are hunched forward and his hair hangs down shielding his eyes from his master’s gaze. Guillermo looks at him dispassionately, parting his lips to taste the air and savoring the trepidation mixed with an earnest desire to please him.  _ Fuck. _

“Lay down on the bed,” Guillermo instructs. 

Nandor is too tall for the little bed so he lays with his knees bent, but otherwise he’s as rigid as a lamppost. Guillermo stands up from his chair and removes his own clothes, stacking them in a neat pile on Nandor’s dresser and removing the bottle of lube from the top drawer before joining his familiar on the bed. Nandor flinches violently as soon as Guillermo sits. 

“Shhh,” the vampire murmurs, running his hand over Nandor’s delightfully hairy chest and stomach. His familiar’s muscles jump and twitch under the touch. “I know this is scary for you. But you want to be my good boy, don’t you?”

Nandor gasps when Guillermo’s fingers wrap around his soft cock, “Yes! I want to be a good boy, master. Please.”

Guillermo hums in approval, popping the lid on the lube bottle before answering, “You’re going to behave and let me fuck you?”

“Yes! I’ll be good! I’ll be so, so good. I won’t try to fight you, please!” Nandor’s tone of sudden panic gives Guillermo pause. He narrows his eyes at him as he pours the lube out into his palm and begins lathering the first two fingers of his right hand. 

“What are you scared of?” he questions, even as he crawls in between Nandor’s spread legs and gently nudges his thighs further apart. “Tell me. Use your words, Nandor.”

Nandor flinches away from Guillermo’s hands before gritting his teeth and forcing his hips to stay immobile as the vampire reaches between his legs with those cold, wet fingers. 

“I’m afraid…” he gasps, Guillermo’s pointer finger probes at his tight entrance, circling and pressing but not actually penetrating. “I-I’m being afraid of you hypnotizing me. Please, master. Don’t do the hypnosis on meee. I’ll be good! I promise.”

Nandor’s English becomes adorably corrupted when he’s overwrought. 

Guillermo pulls his hand away and raises his eyes to meet Nandor’s. 

“Is that something Simon did to you?” Simon’s powers of hypnosis were incredibly strong and renowned. The image of Nandor laid out as he is now but trapped helplessly under Simon’s psychic control is strangely unappealing.

Nandor nods, tears slipping free from the corners of his eyes as he goes on, “H-he made it so that I could not talk or-or move. He controlled my body with it. It  _ hurt _ , master.”

Guillermo gives a small nod, going back to his work. He slips a finger inside of Nandor and the familiar howls, more in surprise than pain. His body jumps at the touch before going still. He gulps down lungfuls of air and watches his master slowly open him up.

Guillermo’s voice is soft and gentle, belied by the fact that he’s currently violating the human with his fingers, “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, Nandor. I’m not going to use hypnosis on you. Ever. Why would I need to when you’re such a good boy for me already?”

He adds another finger and his human moans and writhes in response. 

“Thank you, master!” He’s sobbing now and Guillermo drinks it in, reveling in the tears cutting salty tracks into the familiar’s beard.

“Good boy,” Guillermo praises, stroking Nandor’s soft belly as he pumps his fingers in and out with the other hand. “Getting nice and ready for me. You’re gonna feel so wonderful, aren’t you? With my cock inside of you, all hot and tight. You look beautiful like this, Nandor. I love it when your face and neck get all red for me.”

Nandor sobs louder at Guillermo’s words, contrasting them in his mind with years of cruel insults and degradation. He hiccups and tries to reign in his emotions, but it’s no use. He unravels under his master’s unrelenting attention.

“That’s alright, baby. You can cry,” Guillermo murmurs, darting his eyes up with a glint of malicious mischief. “I like it when you do that too.”

Guillermo fucks his familiar with a wide, beatific grin on his face, feeding off the intensity of the human’s hopelessly tangled emotions. Nandor alternates between crying and moaning as his master sets a brutal, unyielding tempo, slamming inside of him over and over again and ignoring Nandor’s arousal in favor of his own pleasure. Nandor feels both physically and mentally vulnerable. He’s like a tiny supplicant before a dark, all-powerful deity and he can only pray that the god before him is a merciful one. 

Nandor falls into his master’s dark eyes and his neglected erection twitches as he maintains steady eye contact while his master mercilessly drives into him. Can he come just from this? He wants to come so badly. He’s never... _ god _ , he never wanted to come, not once, with Simon or any of his cohort. Even the times they forced him to orgasm Nandor felt only misery and self-disgust. The intrusive memories rip another sob from him and he shuts his eyes in shame. 

“Shhh,” Guillermo huffs, never letting up on the cruel swing of his hips. He seems to read Nandor’s mind, though, and his next words wrap him in a comforting blanket, “I’ve got you, baby. You’re with me now. And you’re being  _ so good _ .”

“Yes!” Nandor moans and then words are falling unbidden and uncensored from his lips. “You’re so beautiful, master. I...I don’t deserve you. You’re so nice to me and--and gentle. Ngh… I want to be your good boy, master.”

Guillermo eats it up. Nandor, his fragile, soft, quiet familiar, fucked into spilling his guts for his master. 

_ Oh, Nandor. You’re fucking gourmet. _

Guillermo comes with a deep, feral growl, sinking his fingers into Nandor’s fleshy hips to hold him in place as he ruts through the last pulsing waves of his climax. He collapses beside him on the bed, ignoring his familiar’s obvious erection in favor of tucking the human against him like a giant teddy bear and stroking his fingers through the soft waves of his hair. 

“Now you’re really mine, Nandor,” Guillermo sighs contentedly and drops a kiss to the crown of Nandor’s head.

Nandor hums in satisfaction and he feels brave enough to wrap his long arm around Guillermo, clinging to him and nuzzling his face into the vampire’s ample chest. 

“You don’t have to be afraid now, Nandor,” Guillermo whispers, a little while later. He tightens his embrace and feels a fierce streak of protectiveness over this soft, broken human of his. “You don’t have to worry about Simon ever again, baby.”

\---

The next night they’re wandering through the mall, Nandor latched onto Guillermo’s side like a barnacle and cringing pitifully whenever a stranger happens to look in his direction. But suddenly his face lights up and Guillermo feels him tug on his hand in the direction of the bookstore. 

“Master!” Nandor’s voice sounds about twenty years younger and his face is incandescent as he approaches the bright window facade of the store. “Is that the last Harry Potter book?!”

Guillermo glances as the fat paperback edition displayed with a number of other children’s books and he shrugs, “I don’t know?”

“It is!” Nandor gushes, turning to Guillermo with his deep, dark eyes gleaming, “I was waiting for it to come out when...before…”

The smile falls from his face and he ducks his head. Guillermo sips his anguished turmoil and smiles.

“Do you want it?” he asks and beams when Nandor responds just as he’d hoped. 

The human nods emphatically, wringing his hands around Guillermo’s and impulsively leaning down to hug his master. “Yes, thank you!”

Guillermo never could understand vampires like Simon who got off on pain and misery alone. Didn’t they know that variety, as they say, is the spice of life?

\---

**Present**

Guillerm fans the pages of the book with a fond smile tinged with heartache and regret. Nandor has given him a million little gifts in the time they’ve had together. All of them freely given and genuine. Everything Guillermo has given to Nandor, no matter how seemingly generous or kind, has been a manipulation. The vampire feels the sharp blade of guilt sink into his chest. And now he’ll take the last gift from Nandor. The one gift he’ll give unwillingly. His life. 

_ Fuck. _

Guillermo is about to stand up and leave when his eyes fall on the shiny, slick smartphone sitting beside the book. Another gift from his foolish master. He picks it up and fishes in his pocket for the stylus he uses with his own phone. Once he unlocks it and sees Nandor’s homescreen his breath flutters and dies in his chest. 

It’s a picture of the two of them. A selfie taken in bed a few weeks ago. Nandor’s hair fans out on the pillow and he’s hamming it up for the camera, smiling wide with squinted eyes. Guillermo lies beside him on the pillow looking alarmingly pale next to Nandor’s bronze grandeur. He’s grinning too and, other than his fangs and unnatural pallor, they look beautifully...normal. Like a real couple. The phone falls from his hands as the tears he’s been holding in since last night finally fall. 

“Master?” Guillermo hadn’t even heard the door open.  _ What the fuck _ . Nandor looks unsure and Guillermo can taste the heavy miasma of sorrow that’s settled around the human since last night. Yet despite this, Nandor is doing his best to pretend like everything is alright. Guillermo isn’t sure if it’s for Nandor’s own benefit or his...but given his human’s impossible devotion to him, he can make a pretty good guess.

Nandor sees Guillermo’s tears but dutifully pretends that he doesn’t. He waits until the vampire has wiped them away before continuing, “The thralls won’t watch  _ Dog Cops _ with me, do you want to?”

His voice is casual and forced, but Guillermo sees the intensity behind his gaze.  _ There’s so little time left _ , his eyes seem to say,  _ Please spend it with me. _

“Sure, baby,” Guillermo says, his voice husky. “I’ll watch  _ Dog Cops _ with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dog Cops" is from the Marvel Now Hawkeye comics lol


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nandor goes out to get a gift for his master and he thinks back to a time when he first learned to trust Guillermo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another flashback chapter! Thanks to Spiff and Duv for helping me figure out what to include in the flashback! And thanks to all of you who are following this fic and encouraging me. It means the world! I really struggled with this chapter and I have no idea, at this point, if it's any good. But I hope you enjoy it!

The woman across the aisle keeps looking at him.

Nandor sits with his body pressed up against the wall of the bus, clutching the large envelope in his lap with white knuckles and letting his hair hang down to hide from the lady’s gaze. Maybe he should have worn something different. He glances at his silky dress shirt and fitted jeans. But he wanted to look nice for his portrait…

He knows he’s handsome because his master tells him so. That’s why people look at him sometimes when they go out. It’s not because they can tell he’s damaged goods. They can’t tell that Nandor’s been used like a sex doll by every vampire in Manhattan. It’s because they think he looks nice. That’s what Guillermo says and he  _ trusts _ Guillermo. It still feels scary, though.

\---

**8 Months Ago**

Nandor presses into Guillermo’s side and ducks his head to avoid the stares of vampires mingling and moving about the fancy room. His new master is deep in conversation with a tall female vampire but Nandor is so overstimulated he doesn’t hear a word. On the far side of the room, Nadja and Laszlo perform a musical number. Colin Robinson jumps from group to group, feeding off the guests by rudely interrupting the flow of conversation. All the while Nandor feels like he’s under a microscope. He imagines every whispered conversation is about him. Questioning why Guillermo the Heartless--handsome, powerful and strong--would let the mewling whore of Manhattan hang on his arm.

“Nandor,” his master’s soft yet commanding voice breaks through his anxiety like a life preserver cutting through choppy waves to rescue him.

“Yes, master?” Nandor asks, immediately relieved to have a purpose to distract him from his spiraling thoughts. 

Guillermo leans in and speaks softly into his ear, “Count Raymond doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the party. Why don’t you go offer him your mouth?”

It feels like Nandor’s lungs have been vacuum sealed. He goes light-headed for a second and his fingers dig into Guillermo’s arm as he struggles to keep himself upright. It's like Guillermo is confirming all of his worries. For a few precious weeks he’d thought of himself as special, untarnished. But now... _Is this all he’ll ever be? A party favor?_

“Wh-what?” It’s the first time Nandor has ever second-guessed an order and his stomach churns in rebellion. “ _ But I was being good _ .”

Nandor’s whiny voice rises above the conversation in their corner of the room and several vampires turn to cast disparaging looks at him, causing him to quake even more. 

Guillermo’s face tightens but his voice remains smooth, “This isn’t a punishment, Nandor. This is you doing as you’re told. Now go and be a good boy.”

“ _ No, master! _ ” There are more people staring at him now and Nandor spooks like a wild horse. “Please--”

He flinches as Guillermo’s fingers wrap cruelly around his bicep. The vampire drags him across the room, drawing the gaze of every single guest and causing Nandor to sob in fear and shame. He stops in front of a male vampire lounging on the couch.

“Count Raymond,” Guillermo speaks through gritted teeth, “this is my familiar. Would you like him to suck your dick?”

Another sob chokes its way out of Nandor’s mouth and his face is on fire. Guillermo’s blunt phrasing is clearly for his benefit. He’s going to be punished for being disobedient. The thought sends more terror and dread to the pit of Nandor’s stomach than does the sight of the vampire nodding eagerly and tugging at his belt. His eyes fix on the vampire’s thick, knobby fingers working at the jangly buckle and opening the fly. His heart hammers in his chest and his breath becomes shallow. He’s moving backwards in time through dozens of doorways into dozens of rooms where hundreds of vampires lay their cold, unwelcome hands on him.

“Nandor,” his master’s voice calls to him once more, pulling him back to the surface. “Be good for me.”

He presses down forcefully on Nandor’s shoulders, giving him no option but to bend to his knees. Nandor’s world reduces to the space between himself and the large, dripping erection a few inches from his face. He hears the click of Guillermo’s designer shoes walking away and he fights the panic that wells up inside.  _ Please, don’t leave me. _

Once the man shoves himself into Nandor’s soft, pliant mouth and begins thrusting, Nandor finds himself oddly _relieved_. He can do this. This isn’t even so bad as long as he focuses on forgetting the leering party goers watching him service a stranger on his knees. He reminds himself that his master won’t let the man hurt him. His master won’t let him spit on his face or kick him or smash his shoulders so hard into the floor that his collar bone snaps.

Mercifully, it’s over quick. The man yanks Nandor’s hair painfully as he empties down his throat and Nandor scrambles away as soon as the penis is out of his mouth. For a few seconds all he can do is pant to get his breath back and massage his aching throat. He hears the vampire chuckle under his breath but Nandor studiously avoids looking up at him. When he feels ready he stands, wobbling a little on his feet before cutting a straight path to his master.

“Master!” Nandor cries pitifully, collapsing into Guillermo’s arms and not caring that he’s just interrupted him in the middle of a conversation.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?”  Guillermo puts his hand on Nandor’s back and spins them around, leading him into a dark corner. He cups Nandor’s face in his hands to force him to make eye contact, looking at him expectantly for a long moment, arching one perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

Nandor feels raw and slow after what just happened. It takes him a minute to realize what his master wants.

“I’m sorry, m-master!” he gasps, more tears flowing down his face. He’s causing a scene again.  _ Guillermo will punish him even more, oh god... _ He hiccups and tries to stop but the effort leaves him red-faced and a choked sob escapes anyways. “I wasn’t meaning to be bad, master. Please do not hate me.”

Guillermo glances around, noting several vampires obviously eavesdropping on this little domestic drama. His voice is like granite, “I don’t hate you, Nandor. But I want to know why you were so disobedient just now. It’s not like you.”

“B-because everyone was already looking at me and knowing that I’m...that I’m a whore. And I was not wanting them to think that about me and see me doing that with a s-stranger. I just wanted to be yours, master. I wanted to be your good boy, _please_.”

“Nandor,” Guillermo sighs wearily. “People were looking at you because you’re so handsome! They were admiring you, not mocking you. And servicing my guest doesn’t make you a whore. It makes you a nice, obedient familiar who listens to his master. Do you understand?”

Nandor nods miserably, his face crumpled in shame.

“The party is over for you. I want you to go back to the crypt and wait for me, alright? You know you’re going to be punished, don’t you?”

Another silent nod.

Guillermo pauses, looking up at his broken familiar and getting a taste of utter despair. He drinks it and nearly groans out loud. It’s not lost on him that it’s _his disappointment_ rather than the ordeal he’s just gone through that sparks these feelings in Nandor. The thought fills him with pride and something sickeningly tender. For some reason he wants to make Nandor’s delicious misery go away.

“If you handle your punishment well then you’ll be my good boy again, okay?” his voice is soft and Nandor latches onto it pitifully.

“Yes! Please, master, I can handle it.” Nandor thinks back to the few minor punishments he’s received from his new master. A smack...a spanking...all part of his training. Guillermo isn’t cruel like Simon. Nandor knows he won’t do anything to truly harm him. 

\---

He tries to sleep while he waits for the party to end, but Nandor's too miserable and nervous. He wants to believe what Guillermo told him, that no one thinks he’s a whore, but years of being told otherwise have left their mark. He’s impatient for his punishment to begin, needing to atone for his horrible behavior and hear his master praise him again. 

When the door finally opens, Nandor pops up in bed and watches his master shuffle inside looking exhausted and drained. He feels a new wave of guilt. If he’d been good, his master could go to coffin early. But now he has to stay up to punish Nandor. 

“Come help me undress,” Guillermo sounds gruff and tired.

Nandor sighs in relief, hopping off the bed and hurrying to obey. In the two months he’s lived with his master he’s come to thrive on their routine. It’s predictable and simple, built to help him succeed. He can handle undressing his master for bed. It will be a comfort after this evening’s stress. He starts with the fancy ascot, deftly unfastening the silk material from around Guillermo’s neck. He lets himself sink into the familiar tasks, unbuttoning the dress shirt, gently pushing the shiny, embroidered jacket off his shoulders. It feels nice to take care of his master and Nandor’s head goes pleasantly fuzzy. For the first time in hours he forgets all about Count Raymond and the stares of the other vampires. He fingers the material of the suit coat as he hangs it up in the wardrobe.

“You looked nice tonight, Master,” he muses, surprising himself by speaking out of turn. His face immediately reddens but when he peeks up to gauge Guillermo’s reaction he finds him smiling indulgently. Nandor retrieves a set of black, satin pajamas from the wardrobe and helps his master change into them. It feels deliciously intimate to see him like this, when he’s not dressed up or performing for anyone.

Guillermo is amused and a little startled by his familiar’s innocent compliment. He sensed Nandor’s feelings toward him shifting and changing over the last several weeks. He knows his human is harboring an adorable little crush on him. Guillermo finds it delightful. It makes playing with him so much more entertaining. 

“Thank you, Nandor,” he cups Nandor’s face in his hands, angling his head downward so he can capture his lips in a hungry, wet kiss. When he pulls away his eyes glint smugly, “You like the way your master looks, huh?”

Nandor can only nod helplessly, his big brown eyes scanning over Guillermo’s stubbled cheeks and plump lips. His master is so beautiful it hurts. He can pinpoint the moment his affection and gratitude morphed into attraction. Guillermo spent the first few weeks of Nandor’s servitude hand-feeding him every meal. Nandor would gaze at his master as he waited for him to feed him his next bite. He cherished the luxury of being allowed to look his master in the eyes. Guillermo’s eyes were big and warm, a contrast to his cold skin and pallid complexion. His fangs dented into his lower lip when he concentrated and he always blew his cool breath over hot food before offering it to Nandor. The act felt deeply intimate to Nandor and it wasn’t long before he found himself looking forward to it not because of the food but because it was an excuse to gaze at his handsome master. Nandor secretly misses being fed from Guillermo's hand, but he hasn’t been brave enough to ask for it since it stopped.

“Yes, master,” he finally replies, bravely reaching up to twirl one of Guillermo’s impossibly soft curls through his fingers. “You’re so handsome.”

Guillermo laughs softly. It’s a novelty to see his subservient familiar acting so boldly. If he knew him less Guillermo might wonder if it was an attempt at manipulation, a ploy to get out of punishment. But Nandor is utterly incapable of subterfuge. The man craves his attention and affection like a flower reaching toward the sun. And while that kind of devotion is gratifying to his ego, it also burdens Guillermo with a sense of responsibility. He’s deeply aware of the power and control he holds over his fragile little human. That Nandor would question his ability to make decisions for him is deeply disturbing. He circles back to his familiar's looming punishment.

Guillermo reaches up and takes Nandor’s hand, removing it from his hair but giving him a squeeze to let him know he doesn’t mind the touch. 

“Are you ready for your punishment, Nandor?” he asks and his voice is soft and warm, at odds with his words.

Nandor’s eyes drop to the floor at once and he nods his head quickly, “I’m ready, master.”

Guillermo lets go of his hand and walks over to his coffin. It gleams in the candlelight, midnight black and waxed to a mirror finish. He opens the lid with a casual air.

“You don’t like small spaces, I think,” Guillermo muses, plumping the pillow inside the coffin and inspecting it as if he’s about to climb inside and go to sleep. “You told me that once. Simon made you live in a cage.”

Nandor feels the first curling tendril of unease take hold in his stomach. He thought maybe his master would spank him again or--or maybe whip him?

“Y-yes, master,” Nandor responds. His eyes stray to the coffin’s interior, it’s fancy silk lining. The coffin was built for his master...who is several inches shorter than Nandor. 

“Do you understand why you’re being punished?” Guillermo asks in that same light tone, as if they’re discussing the weather.

Nandor blinks, dread clawing at the back of his neck. “Because I disobeyed and--and embarrassed you in front of everyone.”

Guillermo clicks his tongue and shakes his head. He strides forward, framing his hands around Nandor’s face and running his fingers through the human’s beautiful hair. 

“No, Nandor,” he explains. “You’re being punished because you didn’t trust me to protect you and keep you safe. Did you think that I would let that vampire hurt you? Am I Simon the Devious? Did I line up my party guests to rape you one by one?”

Hearing his shameful past referenced so casually is like a gut punch. Tears fill Nandor’s eyes and he lets go of one short, sorrowful wail before answering, “No, master. You won’t let anyone hurt me. I’m sorry… I got scared and confused.”

“Well, when you’re confused and scared is when you need to listen to me most of all, Nandor,” Guillermo retorts, dropping his hands from his familiar’s face. He softens his tone and continues, “Alright, breathe, baby. This is a lesson. You’re going to do something you don’t want to do. You’re going to get into this coffin and I’m going to shut you inside. You will stay in there until I let you out. You’ll trust that I  _ will  _ let you out and that I won’t leave you in there too long. Do you understand?”

Nandor hugs himself, staring at the open coffin like he’s staring into an abyss. Guillermo’s hand brushes his shoulder and he flinches violently, “Yes, I understand.”

“Alright, then,” Guillermo stands next to the coffin, holding out his hand to Nandor with a look of mild expectation. Nandor looks back at him, seeking the warmth and affection he’s come to covet, but Guillermo gives him nothing. _ At least he’s calm _ , Nandor tells himself.  _ At least he isn’t punishing him in a rage like Simon would have done. _

He forces himself not to drag his feet. Nandor trusts his master. Nothing will hurt him in the cramped darkness of the coffin. He takes Guillermo’s hand, leaning on it for balance as he mounts the little step stool and climbs inside. He has to bend his neck at an uncomfortable angle and twist his spine in order to fit. The thought of spending any amount of time trapped in this position has him panicking even before the lid is closed. 

Guillermo leans over the side and his face fills Nandor’s vision. He takes in his familiar’s glassy eyes and trembling shoulders and he speaks slowly and clearly.

“Can you hear me?” Nandor nods slowly, meeting his master’s gaze with wide, frightened eyes. “Good. This lid doesn’t lock. Do you understand? I’m going to shut it and I’ll be very, very disappointed if you open it before I let you out. Alright?”

He leans down and presses his cool lips to Nandor’s temple before lowering the lid and sealing him in darkness. 

Nandor understands. He can open the coffin and escape its cloying dark confines at any time. But to do so would disappoint his master. It would mean that Nandor doesn’t trust Guillermo. Nandor wants so desperately to trust his master, but it’s hard. His brain and his heart are constantly feeding him conflicting information. For the first time he can remember Nandor feels safe and looked after and that’s terrifying. _What if it’s a trick? What if this is all an elaborate plan to build him up and break him all over again? What if Guillermo and Simon are working together?_

He puts his hands out on either side of him and his sweaty palms press into the coffin’s silk lining. This is worse than the cage. In the cage he could sit up. He squirms, trying futilely to find a more comfortable position. His knee knocks sharply into the silk-lined wood. He can’t move, he can’t even flip over. He hears a low, animal sound like a dog crying and is shocked to realize it’s coming from his own throat. How long has it been? The darkness and the closeness toy with his brain. He’s trapped, alone, forgotten. Did his master leave? The thought is terrifying and Nandor strains to hear any sound from the room outside but the heavy, muffled atmosphere of the box is utterly silent.

“Master?” Nandor doesn’t know if this is against the rules. Guillermo hadn’t mentioned if he was allowed to speak but he desperately needs to know that he’s not alone. “Are you still here?”

His master’s voice comes to him at once, from right outside the coffin, “I’m here.”

Nandor squirms some more, placing his hand on the wall of the coffin near the place where he guesses his master is standing. The knowledge that he’s not alone is a balm on his raw psyche. He can do this, as long as his master is here with him. The thought reminds him of the reason for his punishment, his lack of trust, and Nandor curses himself for doubting Guillermo again. 

“What are you doing?” he asks vaguely, trying to distract himself from his shame and from the humid air of the coffin pressing down on his face.

“I’m listening to you,” Guillermo answers, his tone matter-of-fact. “And tasting you. What are you thinking about? You tasted scared at first but now it’s changing…”

Nandor drags in a shaky breath. It’s the first time his master has mentioned being able to taste his emotions. He wonders if that’s Guillermo’s special vampire ability...like Simon’s hypnosis. The thought sends a chill down his spine. Is his master...feeding off of his fear?

“I’m thinking about...you,” Nandor answers, truthful as always. “A-about how you’re watching over me now and...how you must have been at the party, too, while I was...with the other vampire. I'm s-sorry I didn't trust you, master.”

There’s silence and Nandor blinks, unnerved at the complete darkness pressing into his eyeballs. Every few seconds he convulses in a full-body tremor, rebelling against the horrible feeling of being trapped and suffocated but unwilling to give in and open the coffin. He worms his fingers up to the invisible seam where the wall of the casket meets the lid, just letting them rest there and acknowledging the possibility of escape.

When he feels like he can’t take it anymore Nandor wheezes, “Are we almost done, master?”

In answer the lid suddenly cracks open. A beam of blinding, golden light sears Nandor’s eyes and he squints them closed. His master’s hands wrap around his shoulders, lifting him up and out of the coffin like he weighs nothing. As soon as his feet touch the floor, Nandor’s knees buckle and he sags against his master with a cry of relief. His neck and back hurt, his cheeks are raw from all the crying he’s done tonight, and he can still taste the rotten, salt scum of Count Raymond in the back of his mouth. But his master wraps him in a hug and whispers praise into his ear and Nandor feels nothing but happiness.

“Good boy, Nandor. I’m so proud of you. You did such a good job taking your punishment, didn’t you? Did you learn your lesson?”

Nandor wraps himself up in his master’s voice, burying his face into Guillermo’s neck and nodding against his cool skin. “I did, master.”

“And you’re not going to second guess me again, right?” Guillermo prods, just to be sure. “You know I won’t ask you to do something that will hurt you.”

“I know, master,” Nandor breathes. “Thank you master.”

Guillermo smooths his hands down his familiar’s back. The man is still shaking from the intensity of the psychological punishment he’s just endured. There’s sweat at the back of his neck, not to mention the dried, sticky residue of Count Raymond’s attentions lingering in his beard. He needs a bath.

\---

Nandor stands to the side, nude beneath a fuzzy robe belonging to his master. It’s a little short on him, falling to about mid-thigh. He feels unaccountably shy and tugs at the hem in an attempt to cover himself. It’s silly considering his master has seen him naked before and in decidedly compromising positions. But being nude in his presence without the expectation of sex feels somehow more intimate. 

He watches his master draw the bath for him, sprinkling in salts and plopping a colorful bath bomb into the water. Nandor can’t remember the last time he had an actual bath. Probably not since he was a little kid. Guillermo dunks his hand into the water, cocking his head as he tests the temperature. He frowns and turns to him, smiling at Nandor’s shy fidgeting.

“Come test the water, baby,” he murmurs, holding out his hand which Nandor eagerly takes. Guillermo is being so tender and soft with him it almost makes the punishment worth it. “I can’t tell if it’s too hot for you.”

Nandor dips his fingers into the water and finds it pleasantly hot, enough to redden his skin but not to harm him.

“It’s fine, master,” he says, wiping his hand on the robe. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

Guillermo smiles, reaching for the rope tie at Nandor’s waist and giving it a playful tug, “You can stop thanking me, Nandor. This is to thank  _ you _ for being so good back there.”

Guillermo pushes the robe off his shoulders and lets it fall to the tiled floor. Nandor sucks in a breath, his hands twitching at his sides as if to cover himself, but he forces them to keep still. His body belongs to Guillermo as much as the rest of him does. He feels a thrill at the thought. Belonging to Guillermo feels so much better than belonging to Simon. It feels like something to be proud of, something to cherish. 

His master holds his hand as he steps into the tub. Nandor hisses at the feel of the steaming water. The tub is gigantic, big enough for even his tall frame. He sinks down to his chin and groans as the hot water envelopes him. His face slicks with sweat as his body temperature adjusts and the bathroom fills with steam. Guillermo sits on a little stool next to the tub and watches him. Nandor thinks there’s fondness in his little half smile but he admits to himself that he could just be seeing what he wants.

“I can go, if you want to be alone,” Guillermo offers and Nandor opens his mouth to protest. His master holds up a hand to stop him, “Or I can stay and...wash your hair for you…”

There’s something almost...shy in the way his master says it. He darts his eyes away from Nandor for a second before looking back at him. Nandor beams in pleasure. He’s noticed how his master loves to play with his hair, running his fingers through it, twisting it, pulling it. If Nandor ever happens to have it up in a ponytail or bun, Guillermo will invariably take it down. It’s Nandor’s one point of vanity: the fact that his master finds his long hair so appealing. 

His eyes crinkle as he grins knowingly. He wishes, suddenly, that he could tease his master about it. But the very idea is so out of line that Nandor can’t believe he’s even thought about it.

“Stay, please,” he says instead, dunking under the surface to wet his hair and coming back up with a sputter. His face is scrunched and Guillermo uses a washcloth to mop the soapy water from his eyes.

Guillermo gets up and takes a few bottles out of the cabinet by the tub. Nandor recognizes his shampoo, conditioner and beard wash, all expensive salon brands insisted upon by Guillermo. He sits up a little to give his master better access. The first shock of Guillermo’s cold, soapy hands on his scalp sends a shiver down his spine even in the encompassing heat of the bath. Guillermo lathers the shampoo through Nandor’s hair before massaging the base of Nandor’s skull with slow, circular motions. A deep groan falls from Nandor's lips and he leans his head back into his master’s hands, shutting his eyes. No one in his life has ever washed his hair for him. It’s one more first that his master has given him. One more gift to brighten this final year of what has been a torturous existence. 

“That feels so nice, master,” Nandor murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips.

Guillermo takes a moment to savor the feelings of contentment and gratitude rolling off his familiar, unobscured by fear, anxiety or lust. Nandor’s emotions are pure, like maple syrup straight from the tap, almost too strong. 

“Good,” he answers abstractly, caught up in the act of running his fingers through Nandor’s wet, soapy locks. “Are you feeling better?”

Nandor hums in response, slowly nodding his head. It feels like he’s falling into a trance under his master’s touch. Guillermo lets his hands slip down to Nandor’s shoulders and he massages away the tension he finds there. He goes through the motions of washing, rinsing and conditioning his familiar’s hair, losing himself a bit in the tasks. Nandor remains foggy and pliable under his touch. Guillermo smiles slightly. It’s almost as though _he_ is the familiar and _Nandor_ the master. He finds the thought, oddly, not repulsive? In fact, the idea takes hold of him for a moment. What would it be like to kneel at  _ Nandor’s  _ feet? To feel his large hands buried in his curls and to let himself be used and manipulated the way that he uses and manipulates Nandor? His cock stirs at the thought.

He discovers that Nandor is ticklish when he begins lathering his beard. The human squeals with laughter and jerks away at the lightest touch. Guillermo’s eyebrows shoot up and he can’t contain the bark of laughter as every time he attempts to wash his beard, Nandor breaks down into hysterical giggles. In the end Nandor does it himself, wheezing with leftover laughter the whole time. 

When the bath is over, Nandor stands and Guillermo has to swallow a moan at the slight of his heated, flushed skin. His lips part automatically, hungrily baring his fangs. Nandor sees all this, knowing exactly what it means after years of living among vampires. Once he might have cringed away from that ravenous look. But it’s different with Guillermo. When his master feeds on him he never lets it hurt or takes too much. What had once been a fearful experience has transformed into something that Nandor finds almost soothing. He can feed his master just as his master feeds him.

“Do you want…?” Nandor shyly suggests, gesturing to his neck.

Guillermo shakes his head and comes back to himself, “No, baby, not tonight. But you’re such a good boy for offering. _Thank you_.”

Nandor beams at the praise. Guillermo guides him out of the tub, toweling him off and redressing him in the fuzzy robe. All the while Nandor's eyes are fixed on his master. The experience of his master... _ serving _ him like this is bizarre and oddly pleasant. He wishes he could reach out and touch him but Nandor is frozen in place, his earlier boldness lost to him.

Guillermo leads him back to the crypt with a hand around his waist and Nandor leans into his master automatically, breathing in his cold, dead scent with a pleased shiver. 

“Master…” Nandor murmurs a little while later when they’re lying on his bed and he’s starting to fall asleep. 

Guillermo’s hand pauses in carding through Nandor’s still-wet hair. He hums inquisitively. His familiar is boneless and sleepy. He can feel the way his emotional aura grows heavier as he starts to drift off.

“I  _ do _ trust you, master. I just get confused sometimes…”

“I know, baby,” Guillermo whispers, patting his head. “Go to sleep.”

\---

**Present**

The woman finally gets off the bus and Nandor let’s out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The vivid memories fade in his mind’s eye. 

He loosens his grip on the envelope, not wanting to bend the expensive prints inside. It’s a gift for his master. He hopes he likes it. Nandor has a sudden intrusive image of Guillermo taking one look at the photos and tearing them to pieces. But, no, his master wouldn’t do that. 

Nandor isn’t afraid of dying. He knows his master won’t let it hurt. And there are worse things than dying anyway. What he’s afraid of is losing his... _ Guillermo _ . Guillermo who was once an object of terror and then respect and then love. Guillermo who makes him grilled cheese sandwiches with a layer of crunchy potato chips. Guillermo who brushes his hair for him after he takes a shower. Guillermo who protects him. Guillermo who...Nandor secretly thinks...loves him back. 

He knows it’s stupid. Guillermo will move on and get another human familiar after he’s gone but Nandor can’t stand the thought that his master might forget about him. So he’s spent his second to last day on earth taking the bus to a portrait studio where they advertise same day prints. Nandor dressed up nice and wore his hair down just as his master likes it. He’d smiled for the camera and tried his hardest to banish the sadness and pain from his eyes so that his pictures wouldn’t make Guillermo cry again. Somehow he’s comforted knowing that this piece of him will still belong to Guillermo after he’s gone.

It’s nearly sunset by the time the bus pulls up outside the house. Nandor gets off, clutching the envelope to his chest as he hurries up the front steps. He doesn’t want to be late. Guillermo would be so disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my friends in the Thirst channel: Nandor's face scrunch in the bath was ABSOLUTELY inspired by the video of Kayvan swimming...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the brink of an ending, we look back at the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Jackie_Daytona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Daytona/pseuds/Jackie_Daytona) for beta reading this chapter for me and making me look like some kind of high falutin, grammatical writer lady.  
> And thanks to everyone following this fic and continually inspiring me to keep writing! The thing I love about writing fanfiction is how it becomes this collaborative effort between the writer and the reader. This fic wouldn't be what it is without your comments, suggestions, questions and general yelling at me. I guess...I just want you to know that you...are...my...friends.
> 
> Yeesh! That didn't feel right! **You will forget I said anything.**
> 
> Enjoy!!

**First Night**

They take him to a house. He thinks it might be a mansion. Inside, they’re greeted by a handful of human servants. Every one of them looks healthier and more attractive than he does. Nandor is visibly shaking and hugging himself as his new master ushers him through the foyer. He just wants to go back to Simon. Simon promised it was almost over. 

The vampire keeps touching him. His hand rests on the small of Nandor’s back as he guides him down a hallway. Nandor has to stop himself from shying away. If he resists he’ll be punished. Why hasn’t this vampire hypnotized him yet? Simon rarely ever gives him the option of resisting.

They enter a large, warmly lit, room and the vampire closes the door behind them. There’s a gleaming, black coffin on a pedestal in the middle of the space. A twin bed is tucked into one corner. It’s neatly made, sporting a finely-stitched, slate-grey quilt under which a black-and-gold damask topsheet peeks out. The pillows are the same grey as the quilt--plump and new. Draped beneath the bed’s thicker clothing are thinner silken sheets whose hems spill to the floor, hiding the ensemble base. Nandor hasn’t slept on a bed in...well, since _before_. How many years has it been? His hands toy absently with his long hair and he’s reminded of the new gray strands so recently plucked out. 

His master is watching him with a hungry look and Nandor’s hands fall to his sides. He hangs his head in terrified submission; his eyes stay focused on his new master’s shoes. They’re black leather with rounded toes. Expensive-looking. This vampire dresses more conservatively than Simon, but Nandor doesn’t allow himself to make any inferences based on that information. He knows by now that all vampires are cruel and evil no matter their appearance.

“My name is Guillermo.” His voice is soft and hard at the same time. “But you will call me master. Do you understand?”

Nandor nods his head. He knows right away that it’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth and speak. He can feel the vampire’s displeasure and he hunches his shoulders even more, trying to shrink down to nothing.

“I want to hear you say it. I think you know that, don’t you?” Guillermo asks, sounding more curious than angry.

Nandor nods fervently, raising his eyes to meet the vampire’s for a moment before quickly lowering them again. He’s desperate to appease this new master, but the stranglehold on his vocal chords is ingrained in him by now. Simon hates his voice. Hates his accent. Hates his little mewling cries and his anguished screams. Nandor has learned how to be quiet and it’s a difficult lesson to unlearn.

The vampire’s eyes are on him, appraising him; Nandor wilts.

“You _can_ speak, though?”

Nandor nods slowly, twisting his fingers together in front of him.

“Okay," Guillermo says. "We can work on that. Sit down.”

Guillermo gestures to the bed. For an agonizing moment Nandor’s body refuses to comply with even this simple command. He’s afraid that once he sits, he’ll never be able to get back up again. It’s too soft, too nice looking for someone like him. His legs and back feature nearly permanent bruises from the rough, hard surfaces to which he’s accustomed. Nandor finally forces himself forward, folding his long body down onto the plush mattress. It’s like sinking into a cloud. _A storm cloud_ , he thinks, smoothing his palms over the grey fabric. His eyes drift shut for a second and he lets himself absorb this small comfort while he can.

His master’s voice is firm but so very different from Simon’s cruel, taunting tone. “First, we’ll go over the rules…”

No sitting on the furniture except with Guillermo’s permission. The bed is an exception; it’s _his_. Nandor’s eyes widen in shock at this statement, and his new master inhales sharply, a smile gracing his lips. He will learn to kneel at Guillermo’s feet. He’ll learn to serve his master--to dress him, bathe him, pleasure him. And he’ll learn to speak--respectfully, of course. If he is good, he’ll be rewarded. If he is bad, he’ll be punished. 

Guillermo spells everything out and Nandor’s head spins. He’s never had rules before. He’s always had to guess at whatever capricious game Simon was playing night after night. There was never any logic, never any way for Nandor to win.

That night Nandor falls asleep with a full belly. The quilt is tucked up under his chin and he goes out like a light almost as soon as his head touches the pillow. Guillermo lays in his coffin, arms crossed over his chest, and drifts off to the soothing, rhythmic sound of his human’s heartbeat.

\---

**Final Night**

Guillermo wakes that evening with a feeling of dread like concrete rapidly hardening inside his stomach. He lies in the dark solitude of his coffin and scrubs a hand over his face to banish the tears that have fallen in his sleep. Nandor’s heart beats steadily on the other side of the wood. His obedient familiar on his knees, waiting for his master to rise. 

When he feels brave enough, he pushes on the coffin lid, sitting up with what he hopes is a look of bland composure. Nandor is kneeling, as he’d guessed, with one of the pillows from the bed cushioning his knees. He’s holding a large, white envelope in his hands. Guillermo tastes nervous tension on the air and he narrows his eyes when he notices that Nandor is dressed more formally than usual.

“Don’t you look nice?” he muses, holding out a hand expectantly. 

Nandor scrambles up from his kneeling position and takes his master’s hand in his; steadying the vampire as he climbs out of his coffin. He blushes and mumbles his thanks, plucking at the fabric of the silky dress shirt self-consciously. Nandor has always been so diffident when it comes to his looks. The man truly has no idea how gorgeous he is. Simon killed whatever confidence he once had--and if some of it has come back in the last few months? Well, what does it matter? Guillermo feels his dark mood deepen, but he’s determined not to let Nandor notice.

He gestures to the envelope. “Do I have mail?”

His human blushes prettily. “It’s a present for you, master.”

Guillermo accepts the envelope with a sinking heart. Nandor’s anxious gaze weighs on him as he removes the stack of 8x10 matte photos from inside.

 _Oh_.

They’re absolutely gorgeous. In the first portrait, Nandor sits before a pale blue backdrop; his head is turned slightly to the side with his hair swept back from his temple revealing the streaks of gray that Guillermo so covets. He’s laughing; crows feet crinkle the corners of his eyes. He looks light and free and Guillermo is suddenly intensely jealous of the photographer. 

He flips through the rest of the photos: Nandor looking straight on into the camera, smiling broadly, Nandor running both hands through his long hair with a serious expression on his handsome face, Nandor with his head bowed, looking up into the camera with a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He sets them down in his coffin with a feeling like he’s swallowed an avocado pit. His mouth opens and closes a few times before croaking words come out.

“They’re wonderful, baby.” Guillermo finally meets Nandor’s tear-filled eyes. “Thank you. I love...them. “ Guillermo has never thought of himself as a coward.

Nandor’s smile is resplendent. “Will you hang them up here? After...?”

Guillermo clears his throat, ducking his head in a nod and letting his eyes stray back to the first image of Nandor laughing. He points, desperate for a distraction from the implication of Nandor’s words. “What were you laughing about?”

His familiar’s gaze turns shifty. “It was...just something silly, master.” Guillermo levels a calm, expectant look on Nandor. The human stutters and blushes over his response, his English falling to pieces. “I--the photographer was wanting to know who were the photos for? And I--I did not want to saying...I mean I didn’t think it would be _good_ to say…”

Guillermo watches Nandor flail figuratively before taking pity on him. “It’s okay. You told a lie? You know I don’t care who you lie to as long as it’s not me or one of the other vampires…”

“I said they were for my boyfriend," Nandor admits. Guillermo swallows down the absurd jealousy he feels for a fictional version of himself. “He asked if I wanted him to edit out the grays in my hair. And I told him you like them. And...and we were just sharing a chuckle about that.”

Guillermo nods slowly, his lips twisting with suppressed emotion. He steps forward and takes Nandor’s face between his soft hands, guiding the man down to his mouth and kissing him fervently, gently, reverently. For the first time in 80 years Guillermo prays. Not to God. But to Nandor. The flesh and blood deity of his dreams. The warm, pulsing, sacred human who will own Guillermo just as surely as Guillermo owns him. Once Nandor’s life blood passes through his lips, Guillermo knows that he will belong to Nandor forever. He can never take another familiar. He can never...love as he does now. 

“Nandor…” he breathes, pecking soft wet kisses over his human’s plump lips. “I want to do something special tonight.”

Nandor is already half-melted, clinging to Guillermo’s sleep shirt; his greedy fingers fist into the soft material. He nods without even asking what it is that his master wants. Always so sweetly obedient.

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Guillermo says, leaning away from the kiss and catching his familiar’s wide, dark eyes. “For this...last night. _Please_.”

For a second Nandor’s face is a beautiful amalgam of joy and anxiety. “What are the rules?” he asks, because that’s the natural way of things between them. Guillermo always governs how they can be together. 

“No rules. Not tonight. We can do whatever you want.” Nandor continues to frown with uncertainty and an edge of panic takes hold of Guillermo’s voice. “Nandor, please.”

No rules. Just like before. He never had rules until Guillermo. With Simon he lived in a constant state of wary uncertainty. Would his master punish him for eating too much or for being too skinny? Would Simon want him meek and subservient or would he be in the mood for a fight? No two nights were ever the same and the stress ate away at Nandor’s health. But this feels different.

Guillermo doesn’t want to hurt and unsettle him. He wants to feel like equals. For some reason.

“Okay, master,” Nandor finally answers with a shy smile. Pleasant warmth fills his chest as he says, “We can be boyfriends.”

His master’s smile lights up every corner of Nandor’s dark, damaged soul. “Call me Guillermo, then,” he says.

Nandor’s eyes glint as he retorts, “Is that an order?”

“ _If you want to_ ,” Guillermo adds with a laugh. 

Nandor smooths his hands over his master’s chest, letting his fingers skim under the collar of his shirt to touch the soft, cold skin beneath. “Guillermo,” he says. It’s the first time he’s ever spoken his master’s name out loud. Guillermo shivers and his lips fall open. He’s looking up at Nandor like he’s something...special. Nandor blushes and resists the urge to run and hide. “ _My_ Guillermo.”

“I _am_ yours, baby,” Guillermo breathes, he traces his soft fingertips over the rough edge of Nandor’s jaw, down his neck, along his broad shoulders. “What do you want, baby? I’ll do anything. Please, let me do anything for you. Just this once.”

Nandor leans his forehead against Guillermo’s and shuts his eyes, drinking in this strange, foreign neediness in his usually stoic master. “I have a r-rule,” he says, his voice shaking with nerves. “A rule for you, ma-- _Guillermo_. No feeding. Boyfriends don’t feed on each other, blood or...feelings.”

Guillermo is nodding before Nandor even finishes. He stands on tiptoe and attacks Nandor’s neck with soft kisses. Nandor snakes his arms around to cup Guillermo’s ample backside, squeezing him close and grinding his pelvis into his master’s soft body. 

Guillermo lets himself imagine that he’s still human. If he were human, Nandor would certainly be stronger than him. His familiar’s big, powerful arms wrap around him and he nearly swoons. He imagines himself a small, harmless thing against Nandor’s impressive bulk. They kiss, lips sliding and tongues thrusting. Nandor tightens his grip on Guillermo and lifts him off his feet, marching them over to the bed. 

They fall down clumsily on the plush mattress, lips locked together and hands exploring with increasing urgency. They have all night...but _just_ tonight. Guillermo works on Nandor’s buttons and Nandor shoves his master’s t-shirt over his head, greedily caressing every inch of pale, unblemished skin. 

“You are so fucking pretty, master,” Nandor says, his voice hushed with reverence as he dips his fingers under the waistband of Guillermo’s sleep pants and drags them down. He tosses them to the floor, shrugging his shirt off as well. His perfect vampire boyfriend is naked for him and frantically working at the button of Nandor’s jeans. “Guillermo, Guillermo, Guillermo,” he sighs, laying back onto the pillows and watching his master undress him.

“You think I’m pretty, Nandor?” Guillermo whispers once he’s finally disposed of the annoying jeans and underpants. He crawls up the mattress to stretch out beside him. “I think you’re unbelievable. You’re the man I waited for every night of my pathetic human life. Dark, handsome, strong… _so sensitive_. You’re my dream boy, Nandor. And I--I don’t deserve you.”

“But you _have_ me,” Nandor answers, his wide eyes searching Guillermo’s for some hint of how real any of this is. It’s all a game, right? A nice treat for his last night on earth? As long as it’s a game, there’s one more way for him to leave a mark on Guillermo’s life before he leaves it. “Maybe you can earn me, though, Guillermo. I--I want to try something…”

Nandor flips Guillermo onto his back, rolling on top of him and claiming his mouth in a languid, possessive kiss. Guillermo’s thick erection rubs against his own, precum slipping over smooth, velvet skin. “Anything!” Guillermo moans into the kiss. 

Nandor pulls back, looking down at his master’s sweet face with a worried expression on his own. “It will hurt you…”

Guillermo smiles, reaching between them to grasp Nandor’s cock and give it a few strokes. “You can’t hurt me,” he lies. 

Nandor leans down and whispers into his master’s ear, “I want to fuck you, master. I want to make it hurt so you can still feel me tomorrow even after you… k-kill me. Can I? Please?”

He feels Guillermo’s cock twitch between them as his words sink in. “Fuck, Nandor. You really are my perfect boy, aren’t you?”

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Nandor asks. His chin rests on Guillermo’s chest and he looks up at his master with liquid, hopeful eyes. Guillermo nods, thrusting his hips up to emphasize his willingness.

Guillermo stays on his back, his legs spread out for Nandor. Nandor slathers lube on his cock but leaves Guillermo’s hole dry and unprepared. He grasps himself and probes his master’s unyielding entrance. It feels wrong...it feels _mean_. His mouth opens and a sob of surrender nearly falls out until he catches his master’s hungry, enthusiastic gaze. Guillermo nods frantically, urging him on. Nandor thinks back to every time he’s watched Guillermo inhale, tasting the air and feeding on his feelings of shame, sadness, love, lust... He recalls his master’s soft hand mercilessly smacking his butt cheeks in punishment for some minor slip. He thinks about every time Guillermo lent him out to a party guest…

He rails into Guillermo, forcing himself into that tight, pulsing tunnel with a deep growl of pleasure. Guillermo howls, throwing his head back and baring his sweet, tender throat as Nandor sinks into him in one, brutal thrust. 

“Tell me you love me!” Nandor growls, jerking his hips forward and wrenching another cry from his master. 

Guillermo’s voice hitches with emotion as he gasps, “I love you, Nandor! I love you so much, it hurts! It hurts me so bad, baby...loving you…”

“Good!” Nandor cries, tears running down his cheeks as he snaps his hips. “You made me love you, Guillermo. You made me hurt, too!”

Guillermo arches his back and cries out when Nandor’s cock starts to hit him in that one, delicious spot. “I know,” he whines, canting his hips against Nandor to urge him deeper. “I’m sorry, baby. Please, please…”

“Fuck!” Nandor digs his fingers into Guillermo’s thighs and holds him still. Guillermo could easily break the human’s hold if he wished to, but he doesn’t. He keeps himself still and mewls pathetically as Nandor slows his pace, dragging long strokes inside of him.

“Please, Nandor!” Guillermo shrieks and he tells himself that he’s begging to be touched, to feel his human’s warm fingers wrapped around his cool erection. 

“What do you want, my Guillermo?” Nandor asks in a ragged voice. He’s barely holding on. He can only maintain the slow pace for a short time before his hips begin stuttering into a faster tempo. He works back up to a brutal, rapid pace, slamming into Guillermo with bruising force. “Tell me what you want from me, Guillermo! What more can you possibly want?!”

Guillermo grabs his own cock, stroking feverishly as Nandor starts to twitch and spurt inside of him. “Please,” he cries, begs. “ _Forgive me_ …”

Nandor cries out and Guillermo drowns in the emotions that pour off of him. There’s love, rage, frustration, sadness... He’s dragged over the brink of his own orgasm simply by the force of his human’s emotions. He clamps his mouth shut, determined to follow Nandor’s rule, but it’s like a human trying to hold their breath; he can only hold off for so long.

Nandor collapses on top of him, burying his face into the crook of Guillermo’s shoulder and sobbing. “Master… I forgive you. And I love you always.”

The weight on Guillermo’s heart doesn’t budge. 

They order food from Nandor’s favorite restaurant and Nandor eats in bed, still naked, taking bites from Guillermo’s hand. 

They make love again. This time it’s gentle and slow and by the end they’re both crying and clinging to each other like victims of a shipwreck, floating together in the vast sea. 

The hours slip away and ugly panic settles on the back of Guillermo’s tongue. He’s powerless, helpless, weak. He wants to stop time but he also wants to rip into Nandor and end their misery this instant. For the first time in his long life, Guillermo considers suicide. 

In the small, pre-dawn hours they lay together on Nandor’s little bed. Guillermo pillows his head on Nandor’s chest, rubbing his cheek against his thick hair and absently stroking his soft belly. Nandor buries his nose in Guillermo’s silky curls and breathes, immersing himself in his master’s scent. He stops pretending that this is not the last night of his life. Stops pretending that the man he holds in his arms, the man he loves, is not also his murderer. Silent tears fall down his cheeks and anoint the crown of Guillermo’s head.

“It’s almost dawn,” Nandor says, his voice dull and final. “Almost time to go to coffin.”

“N-not yet, baby” Guillermo whispers. “Just...just a little while longer.”

\---

Guillermo lies awake for a long, long time. He can feel the deadly heat of the sun outside the house. It tugs on his consciousness, coaxing him toward a deathly sleep, but he fights it. If he doesn’t fall asleep then he won’t have to wake to a world in which he kills his beloved. The last thing he’s aware of before his body finally fails and he falls asleep, is the slow, drumming beat of Nandor’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be sitting there reading this chapter and thinking to yourself, "Hot damn! That is one gorgeous description of a bed!" Well, you have [Jackie_Daytona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Daytona/pseuds/Jackie_Daytona) to thank for that. She wrote the whole, lovely description of Nandor's bed right down to the silken sheets and Nandor thinking of it as a "storm cloud"--foreshadowing, babyyy.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things fall apart.
> 
> cw: kidnapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a wee bit shorter than past updates, but I hope you enjoy! I think you might find it...slightly...stressful...
> 
> Thank you to [Jackie_Daytona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Daytona/pseuds/Jackie_Daytona) for beta reading this chapter for me!! You're simply the best.

Guillermo wakes from dreaming of Nandor: his soft, warm skin, the dark hair that covers his chest, belly and trails down between his legs; his big, pleading eyes. He hears the echo of his name in Nandor’s deep baritone and curses himself for insisting on “master” all these months. All this time he could have been hearing his name formed by those sweet lips like a prayer, an invocation, a magic ward against everything bad. Guillermo dreams of holding Nandor in his arms and when he wakes there’s no longer any doubt in his heart.

As the dream fades from his mind, Guillermo notices something  _ wrong _ . Sleeping with a human in his room is like sleeping with a white noise machine. He adores the comforting little sounds they make: their deep, steady breaths, the rustling of blankets, the little snores and always--always--the deep, rhythmic heartbeat.

But the room outside his coffin is deathly quiet. For a single second Guillermo considers something impossible. His human, his  _ Nandor _ , running away; out on the streets by himself, frightened by every stranger he meets and with nowhere to go. His chest constricts at the thought. Guillermo knows for a fact that Nandor’s memories from before Simon are vague at best. He’d told him that he was captured by Simon while out dancing with friends from college. But Nandor couldn’t remember their names or what school he attended. He’d broken down in tears at this revelation and Guillermo had been forced to put him in subspace to calm him down, guiding him to his knees and holding his head to Guillermo’s soft thigh until the tears abated. 

Guillermo pushes up on the coffin lid and his breath catches in his throat at the sight that greets him. The crypt is always cluttered with the flotsam that seems to orbit around his chaotic familiar, but now it looks like a hurricane has swept through the room. A 19th century mahogany card table lays shattered on the floor, wooden splinters stuck into the thick rug beneath his coffin. One set of heavy, light-blocking drapes is torn from the window and Guillermo shudders, imagining naked sunlight touching his coffin all day while he slept inside. He climbs out and forces himself to move around the large coffin and check Nandor’s corner.

The bed is almost never made, but now it looks  _ demolished _ . The lush, thick quilt and silken sheets have been ripped from the mattress and lay twisted up on the floor. The scent of blood lingers in the air. Guillermo’s pupils contract when he notices the few spots of deep crimson on the floor by the bed. He walks over in slow motion, his muscles trembling with repressed fury. His eyes flick closed and his lips part as he breathes in the aroma. It’s Nandor’s blood. 

Guillermo realizes that in his whole, long life he has never felt fear before this moment. He collapses down onto the bed, curling up in a tight, pitiful ball and burying his face into the pillows. He swallows the ingrained traces of emotion he finds there: lust, love, sadness, fury, greed, hatred, fear, terror. Nandor’s fear is the freshest scent and it settles on the back of Guillermo’s tongue, crawling up his sinuses and down his throat, gagging him. 

The pillow is soaked in bloody tears by the time he rears back, finally catching and identifying a scent that curdles in his mouth like sour milk.

_ Simon. _

He stands, taking a shaky breath and casting his eyes one last time over the wreckage of their room. It’s only then that he notices the top of his coffin lid and the long, dragging streaks that mar the onyx surface: handprints, as if someone had fought desperately to reach him and been dragged away.

_ \--- _

The terror and adrenaline fade to the back of Nandor’s mind as he’s led along the familiar, dark hallway and downstairs to the basement of Simon’s club. He feels strangely calm. It’s over now. Not just the fight against Simon’s human thralls, but his life with Guillermo as well. This is the solution to his master’s territory problems.  _ Of course _ . Simon was never going to just accept a dead familiar as a peace-offering. He was never going to let Nandor go. Nandor is already steeling himself to see Master Simon again. He can do this now. He can do this for as long as Simon wants. Because no matter what Simon does to him, no matter what he takes, he can never take away the truth that Nandor was loved once. 

He’s flanked by two burly male thralls, one in front and one in back. As they reach the bottom of the stairs, the one walking behind shoves him in the back, causing him to stumble down the last few steps. He catches himself on the wall and hisses as his wounded hand comes into contact with the bare sheetrock. He flashes back to the slice of a blade burning through his palm as he frantically tried to defend himself from on his back, tangled up in the blankets and sobbing hysterically for his master. Guillermo hadn’t stirred from his coffin. He’d been, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world.

“In your cage, little slut,” one thrall growls, seizing Nandor by the back of the neck and forcefully shoving him down into the extra-large dog crate tucked into a dark, damp corner of the frigid basement. Nandor’s body at last rebels. Bile rises up his throat and he gags as his large form is painfully folded into the confining space. Sweat breaks out on his face and neck; his whole body starts to tremble. He huddles into the back corner of the cage, warily eyeing the thralls as they walk away, leaving him alone in the dark.

It’s quiet in the basement. The sound of his own ragged breathing fills his ears and Nandor can’t help but strain to hear any sign that Simon might be approaching from above. How close is it to sundown? The ride here--stuffed into the back of a beat-up, old minivan and forced to the floor by boots shoved bruisingly into his back--hadn’t afforded him much opportunity to determine the time of day. Would Simon wake soon?

Would Guillermo? Thinking of his master opens a jagged tear in his chest and he sobs at the pain of it, weeping for the first time since this ordeal began. It’s stupid, he thinks. He should be relieved. Why hadn’t he seen this before? His love for Guillermo helped him overcome his wish to die, surely it could help him overcome the fear of living under Simon? If it meant saving his master from war and destruction? If it meant that he got to go on living, no matter how pitifully, with the warm, cherished memories of his  _ true _ master kept safely inside the locked box of his heart? Maybe...maybe they’d even see each other again one day. The thought of his master stumbling upon Nandor trussed up and used as a sex toy at some depraved vampire gathering was distressing, but Nandor thought he could survive anything as long as Guillermo still had that look in his eyes. That look that he’d finally revealed last night. Wonder, adoration, yearning, regret...love. 

Nandor cries harder, twisting his fingers through the wires of the cage and sobbing his master’s name over and over again.

\---

Nadja and Laszlo look up at Guillermo with matching gobsmacked expressions. They’re seated on the antique sofa in the library, dressed to match as usual. The overall impression is rather unnerving; like a pair of twin corpses frozen in surprise. Nadja is the first to speak.

“You bloody, stupid man! Why didn’t you tell us you were in love with him?!” she shrieks, picking up a tasseled pillow and launching it at Guillermo’s head. 

He easily ducks the projectile and watches dispassionately as it lands in the fireplace, erupting in flames. Colin Robinson is looking on from the armchair by the door with bright eyes and a knowing smile. If Guillermo turned and looked he would see the pile of dead thralls in the front hallway. Simon’s humans had been merciless. He doesn’t turn and look.

“I...didn’t think it would make any difference to you,” Guillermo answers honestly, but he feels suddenly like the greatest fool who ever lived. He tries to justify himself. “One human life compared to all the hundreds of years of immortal life between us? I just thought...it was a sacrifice for the good of the household!”

Nadja throws back her head and groans, “Woof! You really are a baby, Guillermo. A great, stupid baby too concerned with his own legend to realize how much he’s fucking up his life! We never would have asked you to kill the boy if we thought you were really in love! We just assumed he was another one of your human toys!”

Guillermo swallows his outraged pride. “So...you’ll help me, then?”

Nadja turns to Laszlo, who’s been silent up to this point. He stands, shooting his arm out with a jaunty flair and taking Guillermo’s hand in his. “Of course we’ll help, old chap. You’re our nasty-hearted leader after all.”

Guillermo looks over his shoulder at Colin who nods with a bland smile, “I’m in it for the angst, Memo. This should be good.”

With his family behind him, the quaking fear that took hold in his crypt firms into a furious resolve. He thins his lips together and squares his shoulders. He does have a heart, but it beats in the breast of his human lover. Until they’re reunited, he is Guillermo the Heartless and he’s going to fucking murder Simon the Devious. 

“Nadja, call Lillith and have her gather the coven. Laszlo, call Arj. Colin…” He turns to Colin and raises his brows in question.

Colin Robinson stands brushing the wrinkles out of his beige khakis and addressing the room with a flare of ice blue power in his eyes. “I’ll call Pamela.”

The other vampires whip into motion. Guillermo stands still in the center of it all, a warm phantom hand reaching through his chest and closing around his dead heart. Fingers squeeze around the defunct organ, constricting until he gasps with pain. His ears ring and he hears Nandor’s sweet, broken voice through the ether. He’s calling his name over and over and over again.

Guillermo’s heart beats for the first time in seventy years.

***

Simon the Devious whistles as he strolls up to the elevator in his penthouse above the Sassy Cat. He steps inside, adjusting the lapels of his scarlet, silk brocade jacket and carding his fingers through the long tendrils of hair that flow down from the nape of his neck. He takes out his smartphone and puts it in selfie-mode, checking himself out with a saucy wink and a kiss. Maybe he should keep the phone handy. It might be nice to snap a few photos of the sweet wretch’s face when they’re reunited. 

He smiles and every human on the premises feels a shiver run down their spine. 

Master is awake. And he’s hungry.

Simon presses the button labeled “B” for “Basement.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NON-CON and TORTURE** in this chapter, dear readers. Please take care of yourself. Maybe have a fluff fic lined up to read afterwards? Or a snack of Oreo cookies? Just an idea...
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to my beta reader, [jackie_daytona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Daytona/pseuds/Jackie_Daytona), who helped me not only with my grammar but also with making this chapter EVEN MORE EVIL than it was originally! She is truly terrifying, y'all.
> 
> I hope you...uhhhh...enjoy? As always comments and kudos are so so appreciated.

_ Mi amor, vengo por ti… Sé fuerte… Sé mi buen chico... _

_ Master... I don’t understand...please please please... _

Nandor is dozing when the sound of the basement door opening wrenches him to alertness. He jumps awake, banging his head on the top of the wire cage. Stars flash in his eyes and his stomach turns over painfully. He’s lightheaded with hunger and thirst and he can feel his pulse beating in the burning wound on his palm. For a long moment the dark room around him is utterly still and quiet. He feels the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and bile rises in his throat. Simon’s presence is like death. There is an aura of stagnant decay that accompanies him. It settles in your nostrils, your mouth, your hair. Not a smell so much as a psychic assault. Something about Simon is  _ wrong _ ; humans recognize it instinctively, Nandor especially.

Nandor holds his breath, waiting. With a suddenness that blinds him, the lights in the basement blaze to life. He screws his eyes shut and when he opens them again, Simon stands there in all his haunting, garish glory. He dances from toe to toe, as if he can’t contain the glee that’s written so clearly on his face. His grin is wide, cruel... terrifying. Nandor feels physically ill just looking at him. This is nothing like the time Simon came to visit the house. Back then Nandor had Guillermo’s safe, comforting body to lean on for support. He had Guillermo’s fingers in his hair, stroking his scalp, sliding down to the pulse in his neck. Simon couldn’t hurt him with his master there to protect him.  _ But now… _

“Look at you!” Simon crows, squatting down beside the cage and twining his fingers into the wires. Nandor automatically flinches back as far as he can. “What a sight for sore eyes!”

Nandor’s eyes fixate on the vampire’s long, pale fingers. In his mind he is reliving every moment those same fingers fluttered menacingly through the air and ripped control away from him. But Nandor surprises himself. He doesn’t lower his gaze or turn into the wall as he used to do. No. He meets Simon’s eyes directly. He’s not fearless, but he is brave. His bravery burns from within, a white-hot coal in his chest. When he swallows he can taste the flame, and it tastes like Guillermo. 

Nandor is determined. He won’t give Simon an ounce of satisfaction if he can help it.

“Hi, Simon,” he speaks. He makes his voice loud and steady. He wields it like a sword.

Simon throws his head back and laughs. “How precious! It thinks it’s people! Oh, I knew giving you away for a little while would be worth it. Look how nice and fat you’ve become!” He reaches through the side of the cage and pinches the flesh of Nandor’s arm. “You know, it might be fun to keep you this way for a while. Would you like that, pet? You want master to feed you yummy treats while you grovel at my feet? I could force you to love me like you love that pathetic freak on Staten Island.

Nandor finally feels _ real _ fear. The fear that adrenaline and disbelief have been masking up until now. It rushes through his veins like ice water. Could he do that? Simon is so powerful. He can make Nandor’s body do things that he doesn’t want to do; he can make him say things he doesn’t want to say… could he force him to  _ feel _ things, too?

Simon is a shark scenting blood in the water. He strokes his fingers along the outside of Nandor’s arm, dipping under the short sleeve of his t-shirt. “It would take time, of course. But it could be done. After all… it’s been done before, hasn’t it?”

_ Before? _

Simon smirks, catching the confusion in Nandor’s eyes and sinking his teeth into it. “A little tender, loving care was all it took to break you, wasn’t it? He fed you, he washed you...tricked you into thinking you actually mattered.” He snickers as he watches the tears spring to Nandor’s eyes. “How fucking stupid are you? Guillermo played you just like I did. You love him because he  _ made _ you love him. He didn’t have to use hypnosis, not with a creature as desperate and pathetic as you.”

Nandor chokes on a sob and shakes his head frantically. “You’re wrong!” he wails. But something inside him shivers at Simon’s implication. What he feels for Guillermo is so deep, so encompassing. Could it really be  _ fake _ ? Planted in him by a master who gets off on drinking human emotions?

Simon fingers the lock on the cage, deftly turning the dial and releasing it. “Maybe,” he sighs. “Or maybe not. Maybe he’s laughing about it right now with his little troop of misfits. Come on out,  _ baby _ . It’s time to reacquaint ourselves.”

His cloying sarcasm drips over the stolen pet name and Nandor feels the burning hot coal in his chest flame to furious life. He reaches inward, cupping it, blowing on it and praying to Guillermo for the strength to withstand whatever Simon has planned. 

Maybe he imagines it. Or maybe not. But he feels a distant echo in response to his rage and confusion. It almost sounds like his master’s voice...calling to him…

He climbs out of the cage.

\---

Guillermo tosses the last body down the basement stairs. A gruesome heap of dead thralls is not what he wants greeting his Nandor when he comes through the door. He’ll deal with the disposal later. 

With that task complete, though, Guillermo has nothing more to distract him from the constant sour taste of dread, fear, anger and confusion bleeding at him through the ether while he waits for the others to make their arrangements. He shuts his eyes and tries to push comfort and love at his human but he’s lost in the storm of Nandor’s emotions with no context at all for what is causing them. The love that Nandor feels for him--a constant, steady warmth that Guillermo has come to rely upon--is cut with an edge of doubt and betrayal. 

They need to fucking move out, now.

\---

“You understand you’re mine  _ for good _ now, don’t you?”

Nandor is standing in the center of the dank basement; a bare lightbulb overhead casts sickly light onto him. Simon circles round him. He’s wearing a pair of black touchscreen gloves that allow him to operate the smart phone in his hands. He raises it up between them and snaps a picture of Nandor, shoulders hunched, hiding behind the long curtains of his hair. Nandor flinches as if he’s been slapped. 

“Oh, but this is delightful! You’re so much more responsive than the last time I played with you! Maybe I’ll keep you like this for now, hm? Hold off on the hypnosis for a bit...” Simon cackles before continuing with his earlier thought. “Guillermo isn’t going into battle for a pathetic little dormouse like you…”

Nandor wants to protest. He wants to defend his master and the love they share. But...well… what Simon’s saying is true, isn’t it? Guillermo doesn’t want to risk himself and his family for a  _ familiar _ , even one he claims to love. That’s why he’d been planning to kill Nandor tonight. The way his master explained it had made so much sense to Nandor at the time; they’d be parted eventually anyway. This way, Nandor got to make a final act of devotion to Guillermo. But...what if last night, everything he’d felt and everything Guillermo had said, was a lie to soothe him into death? 

Nandor’s lower lip begins to tremble and Simon gets up in his face, taking a burst of photos chronicling the way Nandor’s face crumbles. 

\---

(Months ago)

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Guillermo turns his face into the soft pillows on Nandor’s bed, hiding from the camera. Nandor holds his phone out at arm’s length, laughing. His usual reserve has been loosened by the exertion of their love-making--could you call it that when your vampire master has just fucked you raw while gnawing on the back of your neck? The laugh bubbles up from his chest and flows through the air between them. 

“Please, master?” He nuzzles his face next to Guillermo’s, breathing in the vampire’s cold breath and letting his lips brush against his cheek as he speaks. “I want to have a picture of us.”

Guillermo’s eyes sharpen. Nandor scrambles to read the look. Is he curious? Angry? Annoyed? Whatever he’s feeling, Nandor can’t discern it. A tiny breath catches in his throat and the hand holding the camera drops and falls onto Guillermo’s bare hip. Nandor is already ducking his head timidly and shrinking into himself when Guillermo finally speaks. 

“But why?”

Nandor feels silly. He can’t articulate the reasons he wants a photo with his master. That sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the day and forgets where he is. And that the bed feels too soft underneath him and he has to crawl onto the floor and make himself small because then maybe Master Simon won’t be angry when he comes back. He can’t explain the need to remind himself that his master is good and caring and takes care of him, when Nandor is spiraling with great, gulping, silent sobs after he’s done something to disappoint Guillermo. He can’t possibly say any of this because Master is too good for him and he doesn’t feel the same way that Nandor feels. He wouldn’t understand or...or worse, he’d laugh.

“Because…” Nandor can’t lie. He holds up his phone, swiping to the homescreen. “I want a new wallpaper.” Technically not a lie.

Guillermo looks at the screen for a long moment, a golden retriever puppy in a field of wildflowers looks out at him. 

When Guillermo’s eyes finally turn back to him, Nandor wishes he could taste feelings like his master can. The tension finally eases as Guillermo smiles and nods his head. Nandor could float away right now. 

“Alright,” Guillermo agrees. “But you can’t post these anywhere, or share them.”

“Yes, master,” Nandor grins, flopping onto his back and leaning his head against Guillermo’s; he smiles, wide and cheesy, for the camera. He doesn’t bother pointing out that there’s no one with whom he could share these. There’s no one in the world for him besides his master.

Guillermo already knows that.

\---

“C’mon,  _ baby _ !” Simon complains. “I can’t get your angles right if you keep hiding behind that horrible, bushy hair. I don’t know why Guillermo likes it so much.” He grabs a handful from the back of Nandor’s skull and twists it cruelly around his fist. Nandor cries out. His head is wrenched backwards and he winces with the pain. Simon snaps another photo. “You’re more grey than when you were stolen from me, too. Absolutely unacceptable.”

He lets go and Nandor sobs, his hands flying up to smooth down the tangled strands. He gently works out the twisted knot. His fingers run through his hair over and over again, his eyes fluttering shut. He imagines Guillermo’s hands petting, brushing, soothing. He hears Guillermo’s voice from his memory, praising his beautiful mane, complimenting the flecks of silver at his temples. It doesn’t matter what Simon thinks, Nandor’s real master loves his hair. 

Nandor keeps his eyes shut. He can hear Simon’s footsteps walking away. He allows himself one single exhale. He knows Simon is only just getting started. He’s suffered years of degradation and torture at his hands; Nandor can handle whatever comes next. As long as he holds onto something. He reaches out tentatively, unsure of himself and fearful of the echoing silence, or worse the laughter, that Simon insists awaits him from his master…

_ Master? _

**Cold-burning fury… panic... impatience... aggravation…**

**And consuming, bruising, shattering, killing... transcending transforming unending never-fading always-brightening always always always hurting...love.**

Nandor feels his lips part in a magnificent smile. The basement, Simon and his hurtful lies fall away. He’s with his master in the haze of their love.

_ Te amo, mi corazón...Vengo...Vengo por ti…Nandor...baby... _

_ Master, IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou… _

Something shivers in the atmosphere of the basement and Nandor is ripped from the ether, his eyes snapping open. The smile still lingers on his lips as he takes in the sight of Simon standing before him, eyes blazing with jealous fury, with a rusted, dull steak knife clutched in his hand.

“Human sluts don’t play in the ether!” he growls, spittle flying from his lips as he backhands Nandor and sends him sprawling. 

The pain is a revelation. Nandor had thought that he could take anything Simon had to offer after so many years of experience. But in the short months he’s lived with Guillermo, his body has forgotten how to compartmentalize pain. His eyes burn with tears and he clutches his bruised cheek, lying with his hair fanned out on the dirty floor and moaning pitifully. 

Simon reaches down and claws his fingers in that hair. The touchscreen gloves are gone and his nails bite into Nandor’s scalp as he hauls him up to his knees and gets in his face. He smashes his mouth against Nandor’s in a heinous imitation of a kiss. Nandor gags and struggles but Simon’s grip on his hair is unbreakable. Tears stream down his cheeks and he can barely breathe through his nose as his sinuses clog with phlegm. When Simon finally pulls away Nandor gasps, dragging air into his lungs.

Simon lifts the knife and Nandor flinches as he runs it along the beaded edge of his jaw, over his cheeks, up across his forehead and into his hairline. “I watched that freak fawn over your hair all night long. Patting it, stroking it, grabbing it while you sucked his cock. What do you think, baby? You think your precious master would still enjoy you so much if I gave you a little trim?”

Nandor’s stomach drops. He wants to remain stoic, not to allow Simon the satisfaction of begging or fighting the inevitable. And he really thought he could do it while his senses still thrum with his master’s love, like the pluck of a guitar’s strings. But...this is too cruel. His hair is the only thing he’s learned to love about himself. And the thing that Guillermo loves  _ most _ …

Simon tightens his grip and Nandor feels the pressure of the dull blade against his taut strands. 

“No,” he cries, looking up and pleading with his eyes. “Please, no…”

\---

(Months ago)

Nandor’s eyes are closed and he hums as the brush runs over his scalp. Guillermo’s hands are in his hair, on his neck, his jaw, positioning his head this way and that to get at the snarls. He’s seated on the floor, between his master’s legs, facing away from him.

“You know you shouldn’t go to bed with wet hair, Nandor. It gets so tangled!” Guillermo scolds gently. His voice is soft and not angry at all. In fact, he sounds pleased. Nandor’s heart swells. He knows his master doesn’t try to find petty excuses to abuse him, like Simon did. He knows...he  _ thinks _ he knows...that his master secretly enjoys doing this for him. Nandor has noticed the way Guillermo’s gaze and touch linger on his hair. It fills him with a foreign feeling of pride. Nandor dearly loves pleasing Guillermo. 

“Yes, master,” he hums, letting his head lull back into Guillermo’s cupped palm. “Thank you, master. This is so nice.”

“ _ My good boy _ ,” Guillermo sighs, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Nandor’s head as he finishes. “All done.”

Neither moves to break their position; Guillermo resting his chin on Nandor’s head, his arms draped across his broad chest in a loose embrace.

Nandor’s voice is a shy mumble. “I might forget the hair-brushing rule again, master…”

He feels Guillermo smiling into his hair.

\---

The knife doesn’t cut; it tears. Simon presses the flat of the blade to Nandor’s skull and begins to saw away at the roots. Nandor screams as the hair is ripped from his head. Rivulets of blood trickle down his temples where the blade nicks his skin. He fights, clawing his nails down Simon’s forearms ineffectively, until the vampire grows annoyed.

“ **Stop that** ,” he hisses, and Nandor’s arms snap to his sides at once, pinned in place by an unseen force. His legs and torso are frozen as well, locked in painful rigidity.

He watches, his eyes flooding and lips trembling, as long locks of hair fall down to the floor around him. “Please, no, m-master,” he pleads. “I’ll d-do what you want. I’ll...I’ll love you, p-please!”

Simon jerks the knife, eliciting a drawn out wail from the human as it slices through his scalp. “ _ Please, master, please! _ ” he mocks. “Fucking pathetic! I’d rather have you broken than have you love me, if I’m being honest.” He looks down and meets Nandor’s eyes with a murderous smile. “I’m not like your freak master, feeding on  _ feelings _ \--” He pretends to gag at the very thought. “Your pain and blood are enough for me,  _ sweet baby _ .”

He leans forward and frantically saws through the remainder of Nandor’s once beautiful, lustrous hair. His scalp feels cold and his neck is exposed. Nandor has never felt more vulnerable in his life. His stomach turns over and he fears he’ll suffocate if he vomits while Simon’s hold on him keeps him paralyzed. He tries and fails to reach for his master’s presence in his mind. He can’t be sure if he’s just too overwrought to make it work, or if something in Simon’s hypnotic influence prevents it. Silent tears pour down his cheeks.

“Now, let’s see if we can find a better use for that mouth.” Simon drops the knife and it clatters to the floor by Nandor’s leg. The human swallows, pointlessly fighting the hypnosis. If only he could reach out even a few inches and grab the blade. The steel kitchen knife wouldn’t hurt Simon, but Nandor would like to slice off those ridiculous rat-tails. He’d like to get some measure of revenge against Simon for ruining him and making him doubt his master’s love.

Simon steps back and strokes himself through the silken, red fabric of his pants. Nandor tries to pretend that he’s at a party and that Simon is just some unknown vampire. His master is hovering nearby, monitoring everything. Nothing bad will happen to him. Guillermo will always protect him. Nothing bad--

Simon grabs the back of Nandor’s head and ruts against his face, dragging the crotch of his pants over Nandor’s lips, cheeks and nose. Words, like venom, spew from his lips. “This is where you belong, little slut. On your knees for your _ true _ master. Did you think it was over? Did you really think you _ deserved _ to live like a spoiled little bitch for the rest of your pathetic life? You’re mine, Nandor. And you’ll always be mine.”

Nandor’s muscles ache from being held so long in this kneeling position. He’s sure his knees will bruise from the hard, cement floor. He tries to focus on those pains as Simon unzips his pants. He wants to forget this is Simon; he wants to run far away in his mind, far from the things happening to his body. But Simon won’t let him. 

“Open wide, baby,” he croons, shoving his fingers into Nandor’s mouth and painfully wrenching open his jaw. “I’ve been thinking about doing this ever since that chubby little poser made you go down on him at the negotiations. Fucking show off.”

Nandor shuts his eyes as Simon enters his mouth. His nose is still stuffy from crying, but he does his best to breathe deeply as the weight of the vampire’s dick settles on his tongue. Simon pushes, pushes, pushes forward to scrape at the back of his throat. He’s salty, sour and smaller than Guillermo.  _ Guillermo _ . Tears slip free as he thinks of his master. Nandor practically vibrates with fear, anger and sorrow.  _ He’ll know _ . Simon will make sure of it. Nandor hardly registers as the vampire starts to brutally fuck his face, nails clawing at the base of his bald skull. All he can think about is his master watching, a look of disgust and betrayal on his sweet face.

Simon rains insults on him. Disgusting, pitiful human bitch. Used, dirty. Fat, old. He shoves himself over and over again down Nandor’s throat, cackling in delight when the human moans and gags. Nandor can barely get any air into his lungs; he starts to see fireworks on the insides of his eyelids. Maybe he’ll pass out. That would be a nice rest. But Simon suddenly pulls out with a wet, obscene pop and Nandor hears the disgusting squelching sound of the vampire pumping himself to completion a moment before hot ropes of cum shoot across his face. Simon rubs the head of his cock across Nandor’s cheeks and through his beard, smearing the last drops of semen into his whiskers and giggling under his breath all the time.

“You make such a pretty picture like this,” Simon remarks. Nandor finally opens his eyes as the vampire pulls away. He gulps air into his lungs and trembles as much as the hypnotic paralysis will allow.

Simon is holding his phone again, pointing it at Nandor and frowning at the picture on his screen. His shoulders heave a dramatic sigh. “We’re missing something…”

His eyes flick upward and rake over Nandor’s body. Simon’s eyes are as light as Guillermo’s are dark. They’re the color of pestilence and suffering; they’re the color of a tornado sky. A broad, evil sneer creeps over his lips and he snaps his fingers as the realization hits him.

“Of course!” He strides forward, grabbing Nandor’s chin and forcing it upward until his ruined, semen-streaked face is bared to him. Simon rears back and spits from deep in his chest. A sickening mixture of phlegm and blood splatters over Nandor’s lips, nose and eyes. Nandor can’t even flinch. Simon turns his head from side to side, considering. “Almost…”

The punch catches Nandor’s left cheekbone, splitting the skin and snapping his head to the side. Simon’s hands cup his cheeks, moving him back into place until he’s once more facing forward for his portrait. “Very good,” he laughs. “Oh, yes. Very, very good. Guillermo will love this!”

Nandor, from the center of a maelstrom of sorrow, pain and humiliation, absently wonders if Simon has gone truly insane. What would be the purpose of showing this to Guillermo? Surely, he must know that he’d be goading the other vampire to action--even if Simon refuses to believe that a vampire could love a familiar. Is revenge really so important to him?

Simon snaps the picture and turns the phone around to show Nandor. The photo is of a battered, broken thing with bruises on both cheeks and blood, spittle and cum smeared over his face. His hair is...gone. Cut so close to the scalp that only uneven tufts remain. Nandor’s eyes are blood-shot and haunted. 

He wants to scream. He wants to rage. He wants to tear Simon’s fucking head off. Mostly, he wants to delete those photos and never, ever let his master see him this way. Shame, humiliation and dread stir in his belly. Guillermo, handsome, strong, sweet Guillermo...could never love a creature so disgusting, so pathetic. 

Simon snatches the phone back, typing with his glove-clad fingers. He reads his words aloud for Nandor’s benefit. “Thanks for keeping him warm for me, G-man. Brooklyn is yours. Find yourself a new toy. Send.”

\---

The vampires are on the front lawn, preparing for their departure. 

“You’ll be okay getting there, Colin Robinson?” Nadja asks. There’s an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice. She’s afraid. It tastes like sharp human sweat and stagnant blood. Laszlo reaches out and takes her hand in a moment of silent comfort.

For once Colin Robinson restrains himself from feeding. “Pamela’s picking me up. I’ll see you all there.” He locks eyes with Guillermo and nods.

A buzzing in Guillermo’s pocket interrupts the moment. He takes his phone out and unlocks it with the stylus. The other vampires watch in alarm as a ripple crosses his features. One moment he is the cold, calculating leader they’ve come to recognize, the next he is utterly transformed. His round cheeks quiver and fat tears spill over them. The hand holding the phone shakes. Laszlo reaches out and gently takes it from him, glancing at the image displayed on the screen. His jaw visibly clenches. 

“Right,” he announces, forcing command into his voice. “Time to go get back your boy, Guillermo.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sassy Cat is surrounded. Come out with your rat-tails up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Meli for beta reading! And to uv_duv for helping me brainstorm ideas...

Arjan’s pack is already prowling the alleyway when Guillermo, Nadja and Laszlo drop down onto the wet concrete, bursting into their vampiric forms. Ange startles dramatically but tries to cover it up, popping the collar of her silver leather jacket and nodding her head at Nadja with a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“‘Sup, Sense and Sensibility?”

Nadja, despite the nerves that have dogged her all evening, smirks and darts a wary look at Laszlo before replying, “Ange... _ so hilarious _ .”

“Alright now, that’s about enough of that, my sweet darling,” Laszlo interjects, his eyes glowing orange for the briefest second as he stares down the female werewolf. “We’ve got to rescue Guillermo’s little beef boy.” He turns to the lead vampire, as do the others. Each face aimed at Guillermo is tense with trepidation and questions. 

Guillermo’s eyes are deep pools of pitch rimmed with fire. He glances to the end of the alley as Pamela’s white Dodge Grand Caravan eases to a stop with the sound of rusty, squealing brakes. A dozen painfully-mild-looking energy vampires climb out, stretching and complaining about the traffic as they join the group. Overhead, dark shapes manifest from the clouds. The witches land with elegance and poise, smug smiles on their lips. Lilith looks down her nose at almost everyone gathered, but she greets Guillermo with a respectful bow of her long, elegant neck.

Squaring his shoulders and setting his mouth into a fierce frown, Guillermo goes over the plan.

\---

Nandor is back in the cage. The hypnotic vice-grip on his limbs is gone. But Simon left behind an imprint of his power on Nandor’s mind, preventing the human from feeling his master’s soothing presence through the strange, confusing connection between them. Earlier, Nandor had no time to consider  _ how _ or  _ why _ he could hear his master’s voice and feel his emotions...he merely clung to the sensation for as long as he could. But now that he lies, curled up on himself and idly rubbing his palms over the ruined fuzz on his scalp, Nandor recalls Simon’s words.  _ Human sluts don’t play in the ether!  _

The  _ ether _ … Guillermo has mentioned it a time or two but Nandor’s never been able to wrap his head around the concept. It always seemed vaguely made up. If the ether were such a big deal then wouldn’t Simon have used it against him somehow in the twenty years he kept Nandor prisoner? Is it the same as hypnosis?  _ No _ ...Nandor hadn’t felt the sick loss of control he associates with hypnosis. Instead he’d felt safe, protected, wrapped in a protective quilt.

He tries and tries to reach out and grasp the glittering strand that leads to his master, but his fingers grasp only empty air.

When the thralls come to collect him, they find him rocking himself and whispering something over and over under his breath.

It’s a name.

It’s an invocation.

\---

Simon steps off the elevator and onto the main floor of the  _ Sassy Cat _ with an aura of one expecting to be greeted by fawning praise. His arms are already raised in savior pose, outstretched, palms up. His long, rippling mullet-strands drape artfully over his chest. The nascent smile falls from his lips when he notices the resoundingly silent, empty club.

He twists his mouth into an angry frown and turns to the members of his crew lazily leaning against the bar. “What the fuck, Rapula? S? Mr. 50's? What’s going on?”

“Check it out, boss,” Count Rapula nods to the club’s entryway. “Shit’s crazy.”

Simon strides through the air with vampiric speed, appearing at the front doors in an instant and slamming them open. The street outside is barren. Freddy, the bouncer, leans up against the outer wall of the club. He gives his boss a bemused shrug and goes back to picking gristle from his teeth. Simon gapes up and down the street, vainly searching for the lines, the multitudes of lame vampires and idiotic humans jostling to get into his club. But there’s nothing. Simon turns to go back into the club with a confused growl, and that’s when he sees it:

The sign pasted to the door has a glaring yellow background and bold, accusing typeface.  **_CLOSED by order of the HEALTH INSPECTOR_ ** . A block of legalese follows this declaration with a scrawled, jagged signature at the bottom:  **_Pamela B. Johnson_ ** .

Rage spikes in Simon’s veins. He doesn’t know how, but Guillermo the fucking Heartless is behind this. He stalks back into the club and snaps at the human thralls who shrink away from him. “Go downstairs and bring that thing up here.”

\---

Nandor’s bravery is reduced to a guttering ember. The thralls manhandle him out of the basement and down the service corridor toward the main floor of the club, the scene of so many degradations and nightmares. He skips to keep up with them, head hanging low. Nandor yearns to hide his face behind the long hair that was his protection and comfort. He'd tried to clean himself after Simon left, but he knows he still looks battered and used.

He takes in his surroundings, darting his gaze beneath lowered lashes. The club is empty and eerily quiet. His bare feet sound thunderous slapping against the hard dance floor. The thralls push him up the short set of steps to Simon's VIP area. For a wild second Nandor loses the thread of time and he's twenty years old being asked by a handsome bouncer if he'd like to visit the exclusive lounge. Setting eyes on Simon for the first time, Nandor found him handsome --  _ intimidating, maybe _ \-- but handsome. Nandor was interested. So interested that he forgot the rule about keeping his hand over the top of his drink. So interested that he didn’t catch the predatory light in Simon’s pale eyes. So interested that he didn’t even notice his friends being picked off, one by one.

Simon’s voice floats to the surface of his mind and it blends with his own, with Guillermo’s.  _ Slut. _

In the next instant he’s pulled back to the present. He finds himself standing before Simon, who sits with his legs sprawled out before him and his arms stretched across the back of the couch. He looks like a sovereign holding court, ready to dispense cruel justice. He’s wearing an emerald green silk shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. Beady, ruby eyes stare out at Nandor from the flashy bauble hanging around Simon’s neck: a solid gold lion’s head topped with a jauntily tilted crown. 

“Come! Sit!” Simon pats the couch beside him with a simpering smile, as if this is a friendly visit; as if he wasn’t brutally violating Nandor’s mouth only an hour ago. “I need to pick that soft little brain of yours, _ Nandor _ .”

It’s a trick. Nandor knows it. He takes a halting step forward, drawing closer but refusing to sit. Simon finally hooks his elbow and drags him down onto the stiff, uncomfortable cushions. The vampire’s hand feels like carved marble--cold, unyielding, lifeless; Simon keeps it on the crook of Nandor’s elbow, holding him in place. Nandor wants to cringe away from him, to hide behind the couch and shut his eyes. He wants to pretend he’s back at home in his safe, warm bed...or kneeling at master’s feet...or even being degraded by Nadja and Laszlo...anywhere but this place. The place he’d tricked himself into believing that he’d never have to see again.

Simon’s voice is pure oily sarcasm. “Why don’t you tap that freakish little ether bond of yours and tell Guillermo the Dickless what will happen if he doesn’t stop messing with my business?” He raises his hand in front of Nandor’s face and the human flinches dramatically, but instead of the suffocating oppression of hypnosis, he feels the veil lift from his mind. Simon is no longer blocking his connection to Guillermo and he can  _ feel _ his master again! Guillermo feels like warm socks fresh out of the dryer and Chinese takeout on New Year’s Eve and marathons of Dog Cops on Sunday morning. He feels like home and Nandor wants to cry. Why would Simon let him feel this? To make the reality of his situation even more cruel? “Tell him, my pet. Tell him what happens to you if he keeps fucking with me.”

Nandor stares back at Simon, eyes wide and brimming with tears. His voice is soft and small as he asks, “What will happen?”

\---

“It’s quite simple,” Lilith stands before the water tank with her arms outstretched. Guillermo, Laszlo and Nadja watch as she sketches complicated runes in the air, rainbow prisms emanating from her fingertips. “Holy water needn’t be blessed by a  _ Christian _ priest.” The vampires break out in annoyed hisses and she chuckles. “It can be blessed by a faithful practitioner of any religion. And witchcraft is most definitely a religion, my dear leeches.”

All three vampires look distinctly uncomfortable. The coven stands in a circle around the tank; each witch moves her hands in perfect synchrony with Lilith. When they start chanting, the vampires’ discomfort becomes intolerable. Blood spills from their eyes and an ominous tendril of smoke floats up from Nadja’s hand. They stagger backwards, taking to the air and floating above the scene from a safe distance. They watch as the witches become more animated, stomping their feet, clapping their hands and dancing in tight circles around the tank. The movement and sound gradually increases to a religious frenzy. They convulse and shriek. Their melodious voices become unnerving cackles. Just as the zealous cacophony reaches a fever pitch, every member of the coven falls down, limp. The ringing silence that follows is disconcerting to the vampires, but a human onlooker would feel a distinctly peaceful sensation envelop them, as if they were standing in the presence of some awe-inspiring divinity. 

At length, the witches stagger back to their feet. Lilith looks up from beneath the broad brim of her pointed hat, locks eyes with Guillermo and nods. “It’s done.”

\---

Simon stands from his seat and looms over Nandor, hissing in his face, “Tell him, my little whore, that if he doesn’t stop fucking with me… If he doesn’t get over his pathetic, unnatural fixation on a weak, mewling, ugly, disgusting human!! That I will kill you and take my time with it. I don’t mean hours. I don’t mean days or weeks. I’ll take years killing you,  _ baby _ . Break all your bones first, maybe. Cut off the things you don’t really need...ears...nose...lips. You’d be so ugly no one could love you. TELL HIM! THAT I’M GOING TO RUIN YOU. TELL HIM HE NEVER SHOULD HAVE LEFT ME!”

There’s a long moment of echoing silence. Nandor can feel the eyes of Simon’s crew from across the bar. He stares at Simon, meeting his eyes and gulping down his terror. “W-what did you say?”

\---

Guillermo swallows. He can no longer differentiate the emotions that swell through the ether from his human. They mix together, a nauseating blend of stress, sorrow, anxiety...confusion...love...all combined into a sickening decoction that coats his throat. He rubs his chest and grimaces. Bloody bile fills his esophagus.

“Is it time?” Laszlo’s hands flutter at his sides. His eyes dart from Nadja to Guillermo. 

Nadja glances at the flip phone clutched in her hand and shakes her head. “Colin Robinson has not sent us the text letter yet.”

They wait outside the entrance of the club, the eviscerated body of the bouncer lying at their feet. Minutes tick by. Their vinyl rain ponchos squeak gratingly with every little movement. Guillermo is focusing on breathing and keeping down the sick that threatens to spew from his mouth. Finally, the ancient cell phone chimes. Nadja flips it open, the blue light of the screen reflected in her frightened eyes.

“They’re ready,” she says with a solemn frown. She turns to Laszlo, taking him in her arms and kissing him with bruising force. 

Guillermo watches the couple with a pang of longing. How could he ever have considered a different ending for Nandor? He waits for them to draw apart and then clears his throat.

“Let’s go.” 

They let the doors slam shut behind them, announcing their presence. Every step down the dark corridor leading to the dance floor amplifies Nandor’s presence in Guillermo’s mind. The vampire shuts his eyes for a split second and reaches inward, visualizing the deep, dark well of impenetrable calm that once lived within his chest in place of a heart. He lets his face fall into a cold mask; the very air around him grows chilly as he throws away the soft trappings of emotions that cling to him ever since falling for the human. Tonight he can’t afford feelings. Tonight he has to be heartless. For Nandor.

Stepping out onto the dance floor, surrounded by the imposing, serious figures of Simon’s crew, Guillermo feels an instant sense of déjà vu. He’s back in Nandor’s nightmare, watching in helpless fascination as his familiar is taunted and tortured inside the dancing cage. Wasn’t this the moment? The moment the dark crystal around Guillermo’s heart splintered? He shakes his head, casting the memory and its accompanying emotions aside. The club lights reflect off his black-framed glasses, obscuring his eyes and lending him a soulless aspect as he raises his chin and smiles wickedly. He looks up at the raised balcony where Simon stands with one hip casually slung out. He’s smiling in wild glee, clearly ecstatic to find his enemies seemingly outnumbered. He clutches a human at his side. The man is impossibly tall and yet small. His head looks like a poorly plucked turkey and his face is covered in red and purple bruises. His shoulders curl inward and he leans as far from Simon as he can. He is broken, ruined, grotesque. 

He is still Nandor.

And he is  _ everything _ .

Guillermo grits his teeth into a murderous smile, his fangs flashing. “Hello, Simon. I think you took something that doesn’t belong to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devilish smile...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt this program to bring you... baby vampire Gigi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to uv_duv for beta reading this chapter for me! Especially for helping me tweak the opening and closing. See if you can guess which element from the final scene of this chapter was suggested but uv_duv (lolll). 
> 
> And as always thanks to everyone who is constantly cheering on Dark Gigi. It means so much!!! 
> 
> One specific note about this chapter: I believe that baby vampires' hearts still beat for a while after they're turned.
> 
> Enjoy!

**1953**

“You know, young man. My granddaughter is graduating from Skidmore this spring and she’ll be looking to settle down…”

Guillermo de la Cruz smiles politely, his cheeks warming with a delicate blush as he stamps the due date slip in the back of Mrs. Easton’s book. “Oh, that’s kind of you, ma’am,” he answers, “but I’m not ready for marriage quite yet.” 

The practiced lie comes easily to him. As the librarian, Guillermo is part of the fabric of his sleepy little town. He knows everyone and everyone knows him. Or they _think_ they do. No one knows the real Guillermo. The Guillermo who lies awake at night, dreaming of an impossible life: without shame, without fear, without hiding. A life in which he can leave behind loneliness and marry someone he loves. A caring, generous, kind-hearted, beautiful… man. The very thought fills him with shame and he schools his features lest Mrs. Easton recognize the look of guilt in his eyes. He swallows the lump in his throat, adjusts his round, wire-rimmed spectacles and offers the old lady a radiant smile. 

“Due back on the 25th. I hope you enjoy your book!”

That night, Guillermo walks home alone as he always does. It gets dark early at this time of year, but he doesn’t worry. A man in his prime doesn’t need to fear walking after dark -- even a man as mild-mannered as Guillermo, even a man with the kind of secrets that Guillermo keeps. No, his sleepy little town is safe. Strangers don’t stalk the streets here. Bad things don’t happen to good people in this place. 

The creature grabs him so suddenly, he doesn’t stand a chance. 

They close down the library for a week. Guillermo is sick with the worst flu of his life. He has shakes, chills, hallucinations. He can’t keep down any food; although he’s ravenously hungry. At first, the townspeople are concerned for the bookish little man. Housewives turn up on his doorstep with casserole dishes and home remedies. Neighborhood kids rake his yard and bring in his mail. But something changes as the sickness lingers. The women who come to offer comfort leave the house with the hair on the back of their necks standing on end. The librarian seems… changed. His eyes are dark, hungry; he seems delighted by their discomfort, smiling and hissing in pleasure at their trepidation. And though he  _ is _ sick, that’s really no excuse for the stains on his clothing. Dark red stains. Almost like…

The library reopens with a new librarian. Guillermo is never seen by day, but there are rumors of a creature who only comes out at night. A short, curly-haired beast with moonbeam eyes and razor sharp teeth. Pets start to go missing. The autumn leaves pile up in his front yard, but no child comes offering assistance. People speed up as they walk past his house now. Speculation and questions that were once merely whispered, are now openly discussed.  _ Why has he never married? Where does he come from anyway? He’s never really fit in, has he? _

Guillermo watches it all from behind dark windows with sorrow in his stomach and hunger in his eyes. He doesn’t yet understand what he is, but he knows he’s no longer one of them. 

In truth, he never was.

Suspicion and fear take root. When Paul Hillyer comes into town to supply the butcher, he reports three of his cattle found dead, throats torn open but otherwise unmolested. 

And then a child disappears.

The police station is flooded with calls and visits from frightened, panicky residents. Every one of them is certain that the once timid library man is the villain responsible for little Joanie’s disappearance. The chief finally agrees to send a couple officers out to Guillermo’s house. Gawkers line the sidewalk and watch the plain, unassuming facade as the police step inside. When the screams reach them, the crowd is swept up in a euphoria of false justification.

Guillermo de la Cruz is found dead, lying in his bed with his hands crossed over his chest and blood marring his delicate mouth. The child’s body is nowhere to be found. Despite the complete lack of any evidence, the townsfolk are convinced. By the following day no one will admit that they’d ever been fooled by the odd little loner. Guillermo’s name becomes a byword for evil, even after the true culprit is uncovered a year later. 

They bury him in the woods, without ceremony or marker. That night, Guillermo digs himself out of the grave. Blood and soil cake his ragged nails and split knuckles as he emerges, ghoulish and terrifying. He leaves town, aching for the man he once was and uncertain of who it is he’s becoming. He can’t mourn for his little human life, though. A life spent in the shadows. He won’t do it anymore. Monster or not, Guillermo is determined to stop hiding.

\---

The Sassy Cat Club is paradise. 

Guillermo leans on the bar, still dressed in the unassuming wardrobe of his human life: stark white button down shirt, drab gray sweater vest, beige corduroy pants. He sips a goblet of fresh, hot blood and watches, mesmerized, as the bodies on the dance floor spin and sway to the riotous music of the brass band. Men dance with men; women with women. Vampires bare their fangs, feeding openly. They let the used corpses drop to the parquet floor without a care. No one is hiding here at the Sassy Cat. Guillermo’s heart soars. 

He licks his lips, eyeing a tall, muscle-bound human man dressed in a tight white t-shirt and trousers that hug the generous curve of his ass. Guillermo wants to fuck him and then kill him. Or kill him and then fuck him. The order isn’t particularly important. He’s high on the realization that for the first time in his life he’s in a place where his inclinations won’t get him thrown in jail. Nevermind that his inclinations now include murder. His mouth pools with saliva and he’s about to stalk out onto the dance floor to make his first move when a voice stops him.

“Oh, aren’t you adorable!”

Tart, dry curiosity mixed with an intoxicatingly rich lust drifts through the air from his new companion. Guillermo’s lips part and his eyelids flutter as he savors the taste. The man beside him isn’t much taller than Guillermo, even in his heeled wingtips. He’s dressed in a sharp, deep violet suit that clings to the lines of his lithe frame. It’s not exactly the style and yet it works for him. Guillermo’s eyes are drawn to the triangle of chest hair revealed by the man’s unbuttoned shirt collar. He catches himself staring and forces his eyes upward, taking in his big, seafoam eyes, high forehead and plump, kissable lips. The man smiles and Guillermo catches sight of his fangs. His heart squeezes from muscle memory.

Guillermo slurps his drink, giving himself a blood mustache as he stammers a response, “You’re talking to m-me?”  _ Stupid. Who else would he be talking to? _

The vampire smirks and reaches out, swiping his finger over Guillermo’s top lip and bringing it back to his mouth, sucking the blood off while maintaining eye contact. Heady arousal pools in Guillermo’s groin. 

“I’m called Simon the Devious,” he smiles, letting his eyes graze up and down Guillermo’s form. “And you’re just a little baby, aren’t you? Are you looking for a daddy?”

If he could still blush, Guillermo’s face would be on fire. As it is, he’s a sputtering mess. He’s never even kissed before and this man’s gaze alone feels unspeakably dirty. He swallows down his nerves and responds with a quavering voice, “I’m Guillermo. Guillermo de la--” The word, his own name, catches in his throat. A feral hiss twists his features. He realizes, with a shock, how far he’s fallen. “Just Guillermo,” he finishes.

“Pleased to meet you,  _ Just Guillermo _ !” Simon’s voice is light and gravelly. His confident, playful manner draws Guillermo in. “Are you enjoying my little night club?”

“This is your club!?” Guillermo’s jaw drops.

Simon scans the crowded dance floor and nods, self-satisfaction written in the curve of his lips.

“It’s wonderful! I’ve never felt so… so…  _ free _ !” Guillermo gushes and then snaps his mouth shut. He sounds like a country bumpkin. But Simon seems enchanted.

“Well, you are just precious!” he leans closer and traces his fingers along the starched collar of Guillermo’s shirt, tugging at the rigid fabric with a playful glint in his eye. “Tell me, you  _ are _ all by yourself, aren’t you? A newly-made vampire, abandoned, left to find his own way… it’s  _ tragic _ ! You don’t have to be alone, you know. I’m a very powerful vampire.” His fingers move downward, tracing lightly over Guillermo’s chest. “Join my crew and you’ll have a safe home...” He leans his face in close, running his lips over Guillermo’s stubbled jaw. “A reliable blood supply…” Simon’s hand keeps moving south, over the round curve of the other man’s belly. “Friendship…” He finally surges down and cups Guillermo between the legs, causing the younger vampire to squeak in surprised pleasure. “...and  _ more _ .”

Guillermo finally loses his virginity. He gives it to Simon with shaking hands and quivering sighs. He offers himself, opening reluctantly like a freshly bound book, nervous and terrified of finally being  _ seen _ . Simon collects his virtue like a tithe. He’s firm, commanding, rough, but not ungentle. He ruts into Guillermo with fangs flashing and loud, theatrical moans. Guillermo, overwhelmed and more aroused than he’s ever been, comes untouched, spraying vampiric seed over his own belly and chest as Simon continues fucking him to his own climax. The act leaves Guillermo both satisfied and wanting. It’s exciting and titillating and it feels so good. But he’s missing that emotional connection, that love that he’s dreamed of for his whole, lonely life. 

Still, for the first time in his life he feels no shame for wanting this. Simon makes him feel like he could belong.

So, Guillermo does nothing at what happens next. The human servant enters Simon’s room with her head bowed. The poor thing is thin as a rail and shaking. She holds a stack of towels, wordlessly presenting them to her master. Simon stands, proudly nude, his long, wavy hair pouring down his back. He takes one look at the towels and sneers. 

“What did I say would happen the next time you made a mistake?” his voice is transformed. He’s no longer the playful coquette that Guillermo met downstairs. He is vicious, cruel.

The servant girl trembles and wails a reply, “Please, no, master!”

Guillermo watches, frozen in place, as Simon grabs the girl’s neck and snaps it with a deft twist of his hands. He lets the body drop to the floor, the towels land in a heap beside her. He stoops to pick them up, turning back to Guillermo with a bemused smile. He tosses one at the stunned vampire.

“I do apologize. She should have brought up our finest linen, knowing I had company.” Simon absently wipes down his crotch, rolling his eyes. “Good help is hard to find.”

\---

Guillermo joins Simon’s crew. He trades in his bland human garments for bold colors and rich fabrics. He grows strong, gorging on blood every night. Quickly, he climbs through the ranks. Not just because he warms Simon’s bed, but because he has a knack for mediation and anticipating other vampires’ actions. Simon takes to keeping Guillermo on his right hand during business meetings. The younger vampire whispers his council into Simon’s ear. Vampires far older than Guillermo begin to defer to him as Simon’s most valued advisor. 

Very early, he learns not to mention the special talent that helps him with these skills. Simon lets on that it’s not quite normal one night while discussing “energy vampires.”

“They’re a bunch of creeps,” Simon explains, lazily leaning back on his silk pillows as Guillermo goes down on him. “They feed off emotions like we do blood. Rage, annoyance, boredom. And they drain other vampires, too. Despicable! It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let one of those bottom-dwellers into my club, G. I can tell you that.” He hitches his hips upward, thrusting into Guillermo’s mouth. “Loosen your jaw,” he commands breezily. “Relax your throat. Remember, you don’t have to breathe anymore.”

He learns all that he can, sliding into this new life like he was meant for it. And if he finds himself once again keeping secrets, unable to share his whole, true self for fear of being cast out from this new found community? Well, Guillermo rationalizes that he’s still freer than he ever was as a human. It’s a small price to pay for the acceptance, the power that Simon and his crew have given him.

The other thing, Simon’s love of torturing his human thralls. Well, they’re only humans, after all.

Guillermo’s never tasted love before, but he’s fairly certain that’s not what this is with Simon. When Simon touches him -- spins him around the dance floor and wantonly pets his ample curves for all of Manhattan to see -- Guillermo tastes pride, covetousness, lust. But nothing that tastes the way he imagines love would taste: warm, homemade, soothing. It’s clear the older vampire enjoys Guillermo, but after a while he starts to feel like an object in a beloved collection rather than a lover.

\---

Guillermo meets his first energy vampire at the public library. He’s been with Simon for almost a year at this point. He comes to the library sometimes to walk the stacks, occasionally spotting a misshelved title and returning it to its rightful place. Guillermo doesn’t miss being human, of course. Why would he miss being weak and pitiful? Simpering to little old ladies and shushing gangs of rowdy children? But there’s a comfort here, a sense of peace he seeks when the endless partying and conniving of Simon’s world becomes too irksome.

The energy vampire is draining the life out of a reference librarian. 

“...It has a blue cover with gold lettering on the spine and the corners are a little worn down. Page 22 is folded in half. That’s how I keep track of the books I’ve already read. It’s a system I devised after checking out  _ Mr. Midshipman Hornblower _ twice by mistake! Imagine my consternation when I was half-way through the book and realized I’d already read it! Anyways, this particular title is about a man who builds a cabin in the woods. And it might be set either in Maine or Colorado. I definitely found it on the second or third floor, because I remember glancing out the window at the street below and…”

The librarian slumps over in her seat, her head falling to the desk with a loud thunk. Guillermo watches the vampire smile in satisfaction, his eyes flashing ice blue. The man is bald, taller than Guillermo and painfully white. He’s dressed in shades of beige. Even his horn-rimmed glasses are tan-colored rather than the usual black. The man hasn’t noticed Guillermo watching from behind a bookshelf. When he moves away from the reference desk, Guillermo makes a split second decision and follows him. 

The vampire hits a few more hapless victims before leaving the library and shuffling his way down 5th Avenue. Stalking silently in his wake, Guillermo watches the man bump shoulders with passersby, purposely taking up more space on the sidewalk than any reasonable person could ever need. Guillermo is a ghost, melting in the shadows with grace. So it comes as a shock when, moments after losing sight of the strange, bland man in a crowd, he feels someone tapping on his shoulder. He jumps, turning around with a hiss, and is greeted by the round moon face and tepid smile of his quandary. 

“Howdy there, friend. Couldn’t help but notice you stalking me. Anything I can do you for?” his voice is soft yet grating, and he stands too close. Guillermo can feel his humid breath on his face. 

“Stalking? No, I wasn’t--”

“ _ Oh, please _ ! I noticed you back at the library. Kinda hard to ignore the bloodlust energy that’s constantly swirling around you vamps. So, what is this? Am I trespassing? Has Simon banned energy vampires from  _ all _ of Manhattan now? Because let me tell you, pally, that would be  _ impossible _ \--”

Sensing a drain coming on, Guillermo interjects, “No! No, I’m not spying it’s just...I was curious.”

The man’s face closes off, his eyes sharpening with guarded suspicion. “Curious?” he scoffs. “About energy vampires?”

Guillermo nods, looking over his shoulder as if he expects Simon to appear from nowhere. “Have you ever…” he trails off, bracing his nerves to admit his final secret. “Have you ever met a ‘traditional’ vampire who could do the things you do? Feed off emotions?”

Colin is quiet for a long moment and Guillermo’s heart fills with doubt. But then the man’s eyes light with curiosity. “Why don’t we get a coffee and talk about it? We can share the waitress,” he suggests, taking Guillermo’s arm and walking off down the sidewalk with him.

\---

Colin lives in Staten Island with two other vampires (of the blood-drinking variety). Their house is decrepit and cluttered, the front garden is dead and the yard is riddled with sinkholes, but it feels more like a home than Simon’s penthouse. Guillermo visits in secret, learning what he can from Colin Robinson, which isn’t much. Colin has never heard of a blood-drinker capable of feeding off emotions. But the relief of finally having a confidant who knows the real Guillermo is overpowering. Their styles are different -- Colin is drawn to mundanity and despair whereas Guillermo prefers the heightened emotions of fear, joy, sadness and lust, but they understand one another. 

Nadja and Laszlo are a revelation in themselves. The love that flows between them is a fine vintage. Guillermo finds himself falling a little in love, himself. With the vampires; with the house; with their casual way of being. The more time he spends with them the more discontent he feels in his arrangement with Simon. Simon, with his bleak emotional landscape; who tastes like ice water and tongue depressors. Simon, who delights in torturing his human thralls and playing with his food long after it's dead. Simon, who would never accept him if he knew about his strange ability…

He’s grateful to Simon for guiding him when he was a newborn vampire alone in the world. But the Sassy Cat, once a beacon of freedom and self-discovery, has begun to feel a lot like that sleepy little town where Guillermo spent his human life pining away in secret, dreaming of love and acceptance. Whereas the house in Staten Island  _ is _ love and acceptance. 

Simon… doesn’t take the news well.

They’re sitting around the dining table in his penthouse, a nude, freshly-drained cadaver delicately laid out on a platter between them. A thrall stands in the corner, wilting and trembling as his master’s mood shifts. Simon looks at Guillermo as if he’s just sprouted horns. 

“What, you’re going to go and live with those… those  _ losers _ on Staten Island? Am I hearing this right? You want to give up your place here, at my side, in the upper crust of New York Vampire society, to go and play house?” Simon is smiling but there’s a shadow in his pale eyes. That cold, dangerous look that Guillermo’s only ever seen directed at humans. Icy fingers wrap around his heart.

Guillermo swallows Simon’s embarrassment and insecurity. He reaches out to touch the other vampire’s hand, “I’m sorry if this hurts you, but--”

Simon interrupts with a snarl, ripping his hand away, “The closeted infant who practically threw himself at me? Who weeps like a pathetic human in his coffin when he thinks I can’t hear him? The sniveling creature who fucked his way into my crew is going to walk out on me? Is that what you’re saying?”

Something in Guillermo’s warm, brown eyes shutters closed. He folds his hands in his lap and looks away from Simon. His gaze falls on the little thrall in the corner, half-starved and practically vibrating with fear. Guillermo licks his lips, it’s a little bitter for his taste, cut with too much sour adrenaline. He wonders what he would have tasted like, as a human. Sad and repressed, most likely. A black banana forgotten at the bottom of a grocery bag. 

“You’ve helped me and I’m grateful,” Guillermo begins, his voice edged with a cold confidence that comes from someplace inside him he never knew existed. He turns flinty eyes back on the other vampire, “but don’t ever speak to me like that again.”

Simon laughs. He laughs and laughs. It goes on so long it becomes a scream and then a sob and then something else entirely, something wild and frightening. The emotions rolling off of him are overwhelming. Rage, fear, grief, sadness. Guillermo is shocked. He’s itching to transform into a bat and fly away, but there’s something he’d like to take with him. 

“Jeremy,” his voice is a soft command. The thrall flinches at the sound of his own name. “Would you like to come with me? Thralls in my house will be fed, at the very least.” It’s a power move; his very first. The human nods rapidly, rushing to Guillermo’s side. Simon makes a noise of outrage, flinging his chair back as he rises. He snarls in fury, spittle flying from his mouth. 

“Leave then!” Simon calls as Guillermo walks to the elevator with Jeremy. Something tasting suspiciously like betrayal fills the air. “Thief. Ingrate. Enjoy wasting away on Staten Island!” He grabs something off the table and an instant later Guillermo is stepping to the side barely avoiding the knife aimed directly at his heart. Simon snorts as the weapon clatters to the ground. “Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. You’re fucking heartless.”

It’s Guillermo’s turn to laugh. How could he ever have been fooled by this pathetic, insecure little man? He punches the button for the elevator as Simon’s heartache sparks on his tongue. When the doors slide open he pushes Jeremy inside and turns before goes, locking eyes with Simon one last time, “Who knew this would hurt you so bad? Simon the Devious? They should call you Simon the Lovesick Fool.”

Guillermo sighs as the doors shut behind him. The human slinks away from him, huddling in the opposite corner. He ignores him, his mind racing with possibilities. He’s made an enemy out of his lover. But Guillermo is certain he can handle Simon. The man may be unhinged and sadistic, but Guillermo has tasted his passion and feasted on his heartache. He knows what makes that man tick.

In the months that follow, Guillermo consolidates his power on Staten Island. And when whispers circulate about the vampire who jilted Simon the Devious; when a byname is quietly assigned to him, one that denies the occasionally still-beating heart in his chest? Guillermo takes no offense. He embraces it, he becomes it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meli, thank you for beta-reading this chapter! If I'm Dark Gigi's mom, then you're his beloved aunt, who swoops in and makes sure the commas and semi-colons are all in order and suggests better words.  
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I'm so excited to FINALLY see the end of this little extended action episode so I can get to the parts of this fic that I've been daydreaming about for months.  
> I'm so far behind on responding to comments, but please please know that I love and appreciate all of them and they keep me going!

_Guillermo!_

_Master!_

_I love you! Leave me! --No, please, don’t leave me! I love you, I love you, I love you forever!_

The words form on Nandor’s lips, escaping in a wheeze of empty air. Simon silences him as soon as the vampire senses his initial intake of breath. Invisible tendrils wrap around Nandor’s neck, creeping past his lips and down his throat. He gags; his vocal cords tangled with strands that choke his voice. Pulling away from Simon, Nandor fights futilely against the vampire’s strength. He reaches for Guillermo, standing still and cool, bathed in the club’s neon lights. Guillermo’s eyes are flat and devoid of emotion; his lips quirk in a wolfish grin. He looks like a predator, a warrior, a demon prince in a yellow rain slicker. Nandor doesn’t care what he is. He’s Guillermo.

“That’s enough, sweetness,” Simon growls, shaking him so roughly Nandor’s teeth rattle in his head. “The grown ups need to have a conversation.”

Laszlo’s decadent, theatrical voice fills the cavernous room. “Why don’t you just hand over our little -- our human and we can avoid any unpleasantness?”

Nandor recalls every time Laszlo has ever “borrowed” Nandor; for blood-drinking and _other_ reasons. The vampire has never been gentle or kind to him. But something in his voice draws Nandor’s eyes and they regard one another for a solemn moment. Nandor, utterly wretched, and Laszlo, holding himself with a steely determination Nandor has never seen in him before. The look lingers and Nandor doesn’t think he’s imagining the soft remorse in the vampire’s chocolate brown eyes. He glances over at Nadja on Guillermo’s other side and finds her similarly ready for battle. The vampire family is willing to go to war...for him. The lump that lodges in his throat is entirely unrelated to Simon’s manipulation.

Laszlo’s suggestion is met with twin smiles: Simon’s is impish and unhinged; Guillermo’s is resolute and dangerous. There’s no avoiding this confrontation. They both know it. 

\---

“ _Your human_ , you say?” Simon sighs, affecting bored nonchalance. He examines his nail beds as he speaks. “You know, Guillermo, it’s always been my policy to let the past remain in the past. I’m easy-going. Breezy--”

There’s shuffling and murmuring from some of his crew and Simon shoots them a sharp, irritated glance.

He turns back to Guillermo with a little bemused smile. “But here’s the thing. I seem to recall you stealing off with my thrall about--oh!--70 years ago, wasn’t it? And what were the circumstances of that little criminal endeavor? Oh yes, YOU LEFT ME! ON OUR ANNIVERSARY! TO GO AND LIVE ON STATEN FUCKING ISLAND WITH THOSE MISFITS!”

From the corner of his gaze Simon notices the little wretch jump and cringe away at the sudden, loud outburst. He grins, rapidly switching moods and putting on a perverse little show. He coos, clucking his tongue and stroking a hand down the human’s cum-stained cheek in a mockery of affection. All the while never taking his eyes off Guillermo.

Guillermo’s face hardens to stone and he forces out a laugh like a gut punch. “Our anniversary!? That’s hilarious, Simon. I didn’t even realize. I’m not surprised you’re still broken up about it. You always were a pathetic little fool on the inside. Why do you think I left? If I’m gonna get fucked by a weakling I’d prefer to get a meal out of it.”

Simon’s eye twitches in rage. This fucking guy thinks he’s as cool as polished marble, but Guillermo forgets that Simon knows him intimately. He remembers when Guillermo was still a pathetic little simp grateful for his first fuck and desperate to prove himself. Simon still knows just how to get under Guillermo’s skin. 

“ _Come now_ ,” Simon simpers, hugging Nandor tighter to his side. “Let’s not argue. You stole from me, I stole from you. We’re even. Anyway take a look at him!” He grabs Nandor’s jaw and forces the little welp to hold his head up for inspection. Tears and snot run down his face and his mouth hangs open in a devastated, silent sob. _Beautiful_. “Wouldn’t you say I’ve improved him?”

Simon watches Laszlo place a hand on Guilermo’s shoulder, steadying him; he’s practically vibrating with repressed fury. Guillermo hisses, eyes flashing with orange flame, fangs elongating. Nervous tension creeps up Simon’s neck and he glances to his arrayed crew. _So few?_ Only a half dozen vampires stand arrayed between him and the Staten Island cohort. Rapula, S, and Mr. 50s are closest to him and they look tense. Rapula holds a walkie talkie up to this mouth, frustration and panic clearly written on his face. Simon narrows his eyes, darting a look toward the intruders, who don’t seem surprised to find Simon’s crew so diminished in the face of this invasion.

It’s the tart who speaks up first. “What’s the matter, Simon? Not so tough without your little pack of snake skins?”

“ _Leather Skins_!” Simon corrects with a growl, digging his fingers into the tender inside of Nandor’s arm. The human’s face twists in a pitiful, noiseless wail, which Simon ignores. He calls out to Rapula, “What the fuck is going on?”

Rapula looks up at him with an empty-headed expression, and Simon could scream. Why is he cursed with such idiotic underlings? A sniveling internal voice tells him things would be different if Guillermo had never left, tarnishing his untouchable image and making him look like a fool in front of all of New York. 

“Something weird is goin’ on, boss,” Rapula answers. 

Empty static crackles from the walkie talkie’s speaker and fills the dance hall as Guillermo and his crew smile.

\---

“...And so that’s when I decided it was time to put in a call to Apple Support. A lot of people are loathe to deal with automated phone menus, but I find the convoluted structure and lack of human interaction to be an elegant solution to the problem of--”

The vampire slumps to the ground, aging rapidly as Colin Robinson drains the remnants of her energy with a hungry smile. Once she’s limp and lifeless he strides away, eyes gleaming, and moves on to his next target. 

The energy vampires quietly and systematically infiltrate the building, like invasive beetles penetrating a beehive. They take out Simon’s minions one by one, working their way in toward the main floor of the club. Hallways and offices are littered with the limp, unconscious bodies of drained vamps.

Pamela catches up to him in a deserted service corridor. “We’re clear,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, managing to slap him in the face with the wavy strands as she does so. Her eyes gleam violet and Colin smirks.

He glances at his digital watch. “Ready for the next step?”

She holds up a gasoline can, smiling. “This has been fun. Dinner and a show. We should do it again sometime.”

Colin Robinson grins, his cheeks reddening. He’s not altogether sure if Pamela’s feeding off him or not. He’s not sure it really matters.

\---

Simon’s unease tastes like victory. It’s acrid and sharp, like the sweat that breaks out on a victim’s brow seconds before the instinct to bolt takes over. Guillermo savors it, baring his fangs and hissing in pleasure. He watches the tremble in Simon’s upper lip, the sheen of panic in his pale eyes. Nandor stands beside him, silently weeping, but Guillermo can’t allow himself to linger there. He can’t let himself fall apart, not when he’s so close. He can practically feel the gears of his plan turning in perfect synchrony. 

Glancing at Nadja, he nods imperceptibly. She takes out her flip phone, rapidly thumbing the keys, shooting a text to the werewolves waiting outside. The Leather Skins--what’s left of them--arrange themselves protectively in front of Simon and Nandor. They posture and strut like a bunch of turkeys in heat. Guillermo rolls his eyes. 

“You could just give him back, Simon. And maybe hold onto a shred of your dignity…” Guillermo takes a single step forward. “Oh wait, I forgot. You don’t have any.” He pops the hood of his rain jacket and all hell breaks loose. 

Three things happen at once. First, the doors to the club swing open again, this time admitting Arjan and his pack. They’ve been working on their visualization techniques and all six begin transforming at once; their limbs and features elongate obscenely. Second, Rapula, S and the rest of the Leather Skins dart into action, fangs flashing and claws outstretched. They fall upon the Staten Island vampires in a frenzy. And thirdly, Simon the Devious reaches into his pocket, extracts a long, dull, rusted blade and holds it to Nandor’s throat. 

\---

Neon pink club lighting bathes Nandor’s upturned face, highlighting his cuts and bruises in garish fluorescence. His mouth is stretched in a terrified grimace; his eyes are clenched shut. He fights to speak, to cry, to make any sound at all. But it’s like coughing up gravel instead of words. Simon’s influence on him is too strong.

“Open your eyes, sweetness,” the vampire purrs directly into his ear, Nandor can practically feel Simon’s viper tongue flicking out against his skin. Invisible fingers claw at his face, wrenching his eyelids apart and forcing him to watch the storm of violence tearing across the dance floor below. It’s impossible to track the action with his mortal eyes. The Leather Skins seem to be outnumbered, facing off against both the Staten Island Vampires and the hulking, beastly werewolves. But the wolves are slow and less coordinated than the vampires. Nandor watches with his heart in his throat as a huge, muscled vampire flies through the air at Guillermo, colliding in a vicious tangle of limbs and fangs.

“Do you think our soft, little Guillermo can take the Exsanguinator? You think he’ll turn to dust when Blavglad guts him? I hope not. Maybe we can play with him for a while afterwards. Would you like that, little baby? Do you want to fuck your precious master’s corpse while I watch?”

Bile rises in Nandor’s throat and he shakes his head rapidly, tears streaking down his face as he watches the massive vampire rip his sharp nails down Guillermo’s sweet face, drawing blood. The wounds heal at once but Nandor aches for his master all the same. His vision blurs, he sags in Simon’s arms, not caring when the edge of the rusted knife scrapes into his skin, drawing a line of fire across his throat. He just wants-- he wants--

He wants to be home in their crypt, tucked into his little bed and falling asleep in the warm glow of candlelight. He wants to be worshiping at his master’s feet. He wants to be trying to make friends with the thralls and cooking pasta in the little kitchen and even...even cleaning up his room. He’ll clean up his scrunchies and his dirty socks and his glitter crafts if Guillermo will just take him home now, please. 

The pain of the knife slicing against his neck, the gut-aching yearning for home, and the straining, thrumming ethereal cord that tugs him incessantly toward his master, all of it, every sensation overwhelms Nandor until his vision whites out and he’s screaming, crying, shouting. His throat burns; he spews Simon’s influence like so much vomit. His body finally rejects the poison. When his voice bursts forth, loud and guttural and terrifying, it forms just one word. 

_“GUILLERMO!”_

_\---_

The world doesn’t stop turning. The melee doesn’t pause. But for Guillermo the Heartless, everything melts away at the sound of his human’s wretched plea. He rips Blavglad’s throat out with a casual flick of his wrist, stepping over the rapidly moldering corpse and leaving the fray behind him as he mounts the steps up to the balcony. 

Nandor is crumpled on the floor. Simon hovers over him, the knife to his throat. Guillermo wants to throw himself at his ex-lover. He wants to tear his eyes out and feed them to him; wants to rip out every hair on his head in revenge for what he’s done to poor Nandor. But he pauses just a second too long at the sight of the knife on Nandor’s vulnerable, tender throat. Now that Nandor’s voice has returned to him, the man can’t stop the name from falling from his lips over and over and over again. _GuillermoGuillermoGuillermo..._

“SHUT UP!” Simon roars just as the smoke finally--FINALLY!-- pours in from behind the bar. Instantly, the room is filled with dense, suffocating clouds. And seconds after that…

Guillermo pulls the drawstrings on his hood, tightening the protective shell as holy water rains down from the sky. The hall fills with the sound of screaming vampires. His lips curve in satisfaction as he watches Simon cringe and then howl in agony, his skin smoking and charring. Guillermo rushes in, intent on grabbing Nandor and finally ending this horrible night. 

Guillermo is smarter than Simon, cooler than he is under pressure and a superior strategist. But there are two qualities in which Simon undoubtedly beats Guillermo: he is faster and he is meaner.

Guillermo’s hand has only just brushed against Nandor’s arm when Simon grits his teeth against the pain of the burning holy water, tightens his hold on the blade and shoves it through Nandor’s throat, dragging it sideways until the human’s neck gapes open in a bloody, horrid grin. 

It feels as though Guillermo is the one who’s been stabbed. His stomach plummets and he sways like the floor has fallen away from his feet. He stares, ears ringing, frozen in place, as Simon wipes the bloodied knife on Nandor’s shirt, looking up at Guillermo with an arched brow. Simon’s eyes drag up and down Guillermo’s form, finally resting on his gutted, horrified face.

He throws Guillermo’s own words back at him. “ _Who knew this would hurt you so bad_ , G?”

In the next second he’s flying away on leathery wings, dodging fat droplets of water and desperately seeking an open window by the roof. 

Nandor lays on his back, his arms still outstretched toward his master. Puddles of holy water turn pink around him as his blood flows from the mortal wound. His fingers twitch and he writhes, trying pitifully to turn over and crawl towards his lover. Guillermo falls down to his knees beside him, lifting the man into his arms and cradling his limp body to his chest. Nandor stares up at him with eyes glazed over in shock. His fingers flutter in the air over his neck; his mouth opens and closes like a fish. He can’t get air, he can’t speak. He rubs his ruined face to Guillermo’s chest, smearing blood over the yellow vinyl, confusion and terror written on his features.

Guillermo hushes him, cupping his cheek with a shaking hand. “It’s okay baby. Y-you’re okay, now. I’m here.”

At the sound of Guillermo’s voice, Nandor relaxes. Rich, warm ambrosia floods Guillermo’s mouth. Affection and relief and love flow down his throat, feeding him. He wants to cry. He _does_ cry. Blood-tinged tears brim his eyelids and spill over his scorched cheeks. The jacket and hood only do so much; his face is spattered in holy water and stinging. The knees of his pants are drenched. He hurts and he loves and he hurts. 

Nandor is dying. There’s too much blood spilling out of his neck, too quickly. For a maddening, infuriating second, a voice in the back of Guillermo’s mind reminds him that _this was the plan_ . Nandor dead and gone; dying in his arms. Guillermo free to cast off the burdensome husk of emotion and move on to new conquests. _But he changed his mind!_ Nandor needs to know. He can’t let him die. He won’t. He won’t live without him. 

“Nandor!” he gasps. The human’s eyelids are fluttering closed but Guillermo gives him a shake, forcing him back to semi-consciousness. “Nandor, please. Don’t die. I changed my mind! I don’t want you to go. Please… I love you. I’m not pretending. I was never pretending. Please! Will you stay with me?”

But Nandor’s eyes slip closed and Guillermo can’t know if the man even understood his words. He _needs_ an answer. Guillermo shakes him again, snarling and angry and desperate. 

“Wake up! I order you to wake up! You’re...you’re being a bad boy, Nandor. Please...please, wake up and tell me this is okay…”

Nandor’s heartbeat--Guillermo’s comfort and solace--starts to slow, like a train engine winding down as it approaches the station. Guillermo can feel the fragile essence of Nandor’s life slipping through his fingers. There’s no more time. He wanted…

It doesn’t matter what he wants. He has to do this. He has to take this one last thing from Nandor. 

The screaming has died down. The battle is over. 

They’ve won.

He leans over his beloved familiar, cradles Nandor’s bare head in his palm and dips his mouth into the overflowing wound on his neck. He drinks and drinks until he can’t hear Nandor’s heartbeat anymore. 

They’ve lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't hypnotize someone who really really really really really really really doesn't want to be hypnotized.  
> Also, if you're worried about Nandor's throat being cut and him not being able to swallow blood? So is Guillermo. But allow me to put you at ease and inform you that I have a dumb plan.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Gigi's blood palace...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It's probably the most surreal thing I've ever written. Hopefully I've pulled it off and it's not cheesy. Also, this one isn't beta-read so if you find mistakes just...just correct them in your head lol. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. I love my Dark Gigi familyyyyyy!

_Guillermo… I’m sorry, old boy._

_Look at his throat. He can’t swallow the blood…_

_That’s too much! You’ll kill yourself! Guillermo, stop!_

_Nandor… baby. Please come back to me…_

_\---_

It’s dark and Nandor is all alone. He hugs his knees to his chest, pressing his back up against a hard surface, cowering from the vast, inky darkness that surrounds him unendingly. There’s something wet and cold on his neck, but he makes no move to explore it with his hands. A sudden fear seizes him at the idea. He mustn't acknowledge the chill in his limbs, the wet liquid flowing down his neck and chest, the feeling that he is floating in space at the end of a rapidly thinning tether. If he does so, then something terrible will happen. 

He sits, rocking and trembling in the empty loneliness. An eternity passes between one breath and the next. And then there’s a light. It’s small and orange; soft and warm. It hovers in the distance and now that it’s here, Nandor can see that it illuminates a long corridor lined with shelving of some kind. Nothing in Nandor’s experience has taught him that exploring the unknown is a good idea. He should stay here in his safe, dark little corner and wait for… wait for…

He’s waiting for someone, isn’t he? But who?

When Nandor looks at the little light, though, it _feels friendly_ . Something about the soft, flickering orb is welcoming and safe. Nandor finds himself rising on shaky legs and taking a tentative step forward. Immediately, a sense of well-being and purpose fills him. _Yes_ , a voice seems to say. _That’s it, baby._

As Nandor starts down the corridor, he notes that the shelves on either side are filled with books. He runs his fingers over the cloth spines, tracing the embossed letters of the titles, as though he can read them by touch. Nandor likes books, doesn’t he? He remembers reading for college. Names flit through his mind, unconnected to any specific memories or meanings. _Shakespeare… Hemingway… Homer…_ They are echoes from a lifetime ago. Echoes from a time before…

Before what?

His bare feet move slowly over the smooth, warm surface of the floor; each step brings him closer to the little ball of light. It wavers and dances in the air, like a will-o’-the-wisp. And Nandor realizes, with a start, that he can _hear_ it. Faint and piercing, like a wet finger tracing the rim of a crystal goblet; the light calls to him. Its voice is soft and sweet, though Nandor can’t make out any words. It makes him wish to run headlong down the corridor as fast as he can, but his legs are weak and his heart beats so slowly. He feels like he’s wading through oil. But the little light doesn’t mind waiting. It winks and sparkles and Nandor feels a bubble of comfort expand in his chest with each step closer.

He walks on, trailing his hand along the shelf to his right, when suddenly he encounters something wet and warm beneath his fingers. He stutters to a stop, bringing his hand up and catching some of the golden illumination that now reaches him from the end of the long corridor. Thick, fresh, dark red blood stains his fingertips. Without any conscious decision, he brings them up to his mouth and licks them clean. The taste is familiar. Like grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup; like coconut oil and candle wax; like lavender bath bombs and fancy shampoo. It tastes like…

There’s a name on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite find it. Nandor is filled with sadness that he can’t remember this name. It’s very, very important. But the sadness dissipates when the ball of light swells and its song reaches him, three light, airy notes that undulate through the dim shadows and swirl around him protectively. 

Nandor swallows the blood. Or he tries to. His throat bobs, but the syrupy blood stays on the back of his tongue, pooling uncomfortably. He coughs, hacking it up and spraying the bookshelf with a crimson splatter. The burning on his neck is worse as more wet, cold liquid runs down his front.

\---

_What you need to do is open a clear pathway to the esophagus._

_Speak plainly, Colin Robinson! Can’t you see Guillermo is in pain?_

_Oh, for the love of Pete! Get out of the way, you dummies. Nadja, go to the bar and find me a straw--a thick one!_

_I say, how long until he’s too far--_

_There’s still time... There’s still time… Baby, hang on…_

_\---_

A placard protrudes from the shelf overhead. The corridor is dimly lit now and Nandor can just make out the characters, hand-written in neat, round print. 

**795.4**

He stares up at the little sign, his eyes tracing the neat lettering. For some reason, he finds the sight of it comforting, as if it’s written by a well-known hand. The numbers are clear and uniform, fastidiously rendered by some careful person. Nandor smiles, his heart warming. His eyes fall to the row of books beneath the sign and one volume pops out at him. The spine is shiny and textured. He caresses it and the feel is almost reptilian. Matte black letters proclaim its title.

_Luck of the Draw_

Without knowing why, he feels compelled to pull the book off the shelf. His fingers find purchase on the lip of the spine, slipping it out from its fellows in one smooth motion. The space left behind can only be an inch or so wide, yet as Nandor looks it seems to expand, opening like a window and casting a sickly, red light that limns his strong profile. He clutches the forgotten volume in his hands, peering through the opening and into a scene that feels hauntingly familiar.

_“What do you think of my little toy? Isn’t it delightful? Do you want a blow job? It does whatever I tell it to…”_

_Guillermo the Heartless arches a brow and casts a disdainful look at the scrawny creature cowering at Simon’s feet._

_“He looks malnourished,” Guillermo comments dismissively. He taps his cards on the table, neatly squaring the corners. “You never did take care of your things, Simon.”_

_Simon snorts, “You would know about that, wouldn’t you, G?”_

_Guillermo’s face is impassive. The human on the floor fidgets, peering up at him through a thick curtain of brown hair._

_“Are you going to call or are you just stalling because you know you’re about to lose?”_

_Simon widens his eyes, his plump lips curving in a wild grin. Guillermo is cool and unphased, but the human on the floor freezes, hunching his shoulders up to his ears as his master’s mood changes._

_“Sure, G,” Simon says with a glance to the cards in his hand. “I’ll call.” He reaches down, grabs the human’s head and rips out a clump of chestnut hair. He tosses it into the center of the table with an unhinged giggle. “The little slut should be an acceptable bet?”_

_Guillermo’s fingers tighten on his cards. His eyes, liquid and deep, meet the human’s for a second that feels much longer. Dark, rugged, large--he’d be a nice, big boy if Simon fed him right. Guillermo nods and reveals his hand._

Nandor replaces the book on the shelf with shaking hands. The window has shrunk back down and he struggles to fit the volume into the tight space. Something falls out from between the pages as he shimmies it between the other books. It flutters to the floor at his feet. His heart is hammering and sweat breaks out on his palms. Watching the scene--the memory--had been like reliving the terror and the anxiety of belonging to that man. Simon. His name is Simon. And the other man, the one who felt like a serene pond compared to the roiling Charybdis that was Simon? What was his name, again?

Nandor bends down to pick up the scrap of paper at his feet. It’s a playing card. He turns it face up, catching the warm illumination of the light from the end of the corridor. The King of Hearts. 

\---

_Guillermo, that’s enough. You’re going to pass out._

_He’s not waking up. He needs more._

_Here… let me. You stubborn fucking…_

\---

Nandor pockets the card and keeps moving. The panic steadily fades as he walks closer to the light. The hallway is brighter now. He can clearly read the titles on the shelves. It’s odd, though. They don’t seem to be in any kind of order that he can place. 

_Science and Human Behavior… Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows… The Organization of Information Vol. 1… The Prince…_

Nandor is drifting along, dreamily skimming the shelves, when he comes upon a gleaming, golden goblet with a wide straw sticking out of it. It sits beneath another placard marked by the same tidy penmanship as the other. This one reads: **364.1523**. He pauses, his eyes trace the ornate engravings on the vessel before picking it up; crescent moons, owls in flight and abstract, floral swirls decorate the cup. It is filled to the brim with thick, frothy blood. The straw is funny. It reminds him of the ones he used to get from the bubble tea shop near campus. The smile on his face wobbles. 

He takes the straw in his mouth and drinks. Hot, decadent blood fills his mouth and flows down his throat easily. It tastes of gin and sweets and bitter apples. He cradles the goblet in his hands, sipping as he walks away, never noticing the embossed titles that gleam like blades from the row of books where he’d found it. 

_From Hell… Portrait of a Killer… They All Love Jack…_

His strides lengthen. He feels stronger, steadier. The burning at his throat lessens. He looks ahead to the merry, gleaming ball of light and smiles happily, blood staining his lips. He’s almost there! 

A book flies off the shelf, landing face down in his path. Nandor nearly trips over it, catching himself and feeling his stomach drop when he turns to see the empty space on the shelf expanding to open another window to the unknown. He wants to keep walking, he wants to ignore the scene developing on the other side of the opening, but he can’t. He stands frozen, unable to turn away.

_Nandor kneels between his master’s feet, his face upturned and relaxed as Guillermo runs his fingers along the rough edge of his jaw._

_“You’ve been such a good boy, Nandor,” Guillermo praises. A frisson runs down Nandor’s spine and he squirms with pleasure. “Look at you. I’m touching you and you’re not even flinching or shying away. So good.”_

_Nandor presses his cheek into Guillermo’s palm, savoring the contact that had so frightened him only weeks before. “Thank you, master.”_

_“I think you’re ready for the next part of your training,” Guillermo suggests, taking his hands away from Nandor’s face. They move to the waist of his pants, unbuttoning and opening his fly. Nandor’s mouth goes dry and he meets his master’s gaze with wide, uncertain eyes. “What do you think, Nandor? You want to make your master feel good, don’t you?”_

_He nods his head frantically, clutching Guillermo’s knees in his desperation to please._

_“And you know how to do this,” Guillermo adds. He doesn’t wait for an answer, reaching into his trousers and removing his thick erection. He shifts forward in his seat, pressing the tip to Nandor’s soft lips. “So, go ahead, baby. Make your master feel good.”_

_Nandor swallows his trepidation and lunges forward, taking his new master’s cock down his throat in one practiced motion. But he’s barely begun when he feels Guillermo’s hand twist in his hair and gently tug him off. Guillermo holds Nandor in place this way, looking down at him with disappointment that cuts to the familiar’s heart._

_“Nandor, you’re grateful to me aren’t you?” Guillermo’s voice is all affected curiosity. “For the clothes I buy you and the food I give you?”_

_A sickening qualm settles in Nandor’s gut and he rushes to answer, “Yes, master! Thank you, master. Please, don’t take it away. I’ll be good, I’ll--”_

_“Shut up. That’s not what this is,” Guillermo cuts him off coldly and then goes on in a softer tone. “Baby. If you’re thankful, then why are you sucking my dick like you want to get it over with as soon as possible?”_

_Nandor’s eyes dance over his master’s face. He opens and closes his mouth, obviously trying to come up with the right answer._

_Guillermo smiles indulgently, bends down and kisses Nandor’s forehead before guiding the man’s face back to his crotch. “It’s okay, baby. I know you can do better. Show me how thankful you are, Nandor.”_

Nandor stumbles backward, colliding with the opposite shelf and sending a cascade of books tumbling to the floor. Seconds before the window closes he watches the vision fade and another one take its place: Nandor frozen, held in place by invisible forces as Simon the Devious fucks his mouth, scratching razor sharp nails down his face, leaving angry, bloody welts behind. Nandor rips his eyes away, crying and staggering forward with his arms outstretched to the light.

“Please, please! I can’t find my way!”

His knees shake and the strength leaves his legs. He crumbles down to the floor, dropping the gold goblet with a clatter that sends its contents oozing out. In a panic, Nandor grabs the cup, frantically scooping the blood back into it and bringing it to his lips. He gulps it down. The flavor is different now. It’s floral and savory at the same time, with a hint of spice that brings a mist of tears to his eyes. A warm flame kindles in his belly as he drinks but he’s too shaken to carry on. He curls into a ball, hiding his face in his knees and crying out for a master he’s not even sure is deserving of his trust. 

\---

_There. Now he will either wake or he will not. There is nothing else we can do…_

_We ought to get home. Dawn approaches…_

_\---_

It’s hard to tell how much time passes. Minutes. Hours. Nandor doesn’t feel as cold as he did in the beginning and the liquid spilling from his neck has stopped, but he’s paralyzed in fear as if Simon’s hypnosis is upon him. With his eyes closed, he can’t see the cheery little light that guides him, but he can still hear its soft voice, ringing through the cavernous space. _Help me_ , he begs. 

“B.F. Skinner? You don’t belong here, do you?”

Nandor pops his head up to see a slight, chubby little man stooping down to pick up the book that had flung itself at him. He’s wearing round spectacles that catch the light while his face remains in shadow. Nandor should be terrified of the stranger but he’s not. His voice is soft and steady and when Nandor looks at him his heart swells with affection. The man notices him huddled on the floor and pauses cleaning up the mess of books.

“Hello, Nandor,” he greets warmly, his lips parting in a smile that shines a light on Nandor’s soul. “Can I help you find something?”

Nandor’s voice fails him, drying up in his throat. He hacks and coughs, feeling as though he’s swallowed a bunch of crunchy autumn leaves. When the feeling finally subsides, he brings a hand up to massage his neck and he’s surprised to find it unmarred. Wasn’t there something wrong with his neck?

“Please,” Nandor replies at last. His voice is gravelly and low. “Can you help me find my way home?”

The man comes closer, going down on one knee and placing a gentle, comforting hand on Nandor’s shoulder. The shine fades from his glasses and Nandor falls into the warm, brown, fathomless depths of his master’s eyes. _Guillermo_. 

_Of course_ . The name that’s been hovering on the edge of his thoughts this whole time. The man from his memories. His master, his lover, his savior. Only… not quite. This man is different from _his_ Guillermo. His cheeks are rosy, a light mist of sweat shines on his forehead and he _smells_ different; more vital...more alive. His clothing is different, too: muted and ordinary, none of the flashy, bold colors and rich fabrics that his master prefers. Still, Nandor longs to lean forward and kiss those lips; to cling to his wool sweater and bury his face in his ample, soft chest. But he holds himself back, watching this man with wide, wary eyes

Guillermo speaks in the same gentle, soothing voice that Nandor hears in his dreams. “I can help you find your way home.”

He takes Nandor’s hand, helping the bigger man to his feet. It’s second nature for Nandor to fall into step with Guillermo, even this new, strange version of him. Nandor clings to his hand as they walk, gazing at his illuminated profile with naked adoration and curiosity.

“You’re not _my Guillermo_ , are you?” he asks shyly, stroking his thumb along the back of the other man’s hand as if to remind himself that he’s real. His skin is so _warm_! 

The man glances sidelong at him with a friendly smile. “Not yet. My name is Guillermo de la Cruz. But… your Guillermo doesn’t use that name anymore. He goes by a new name now...”

Nandor nods, ducking his head to hide behind his hair before he remembers. The phantom sensation of the knife cruelly sawing through his tresses brings a snarling cry to his lips and tears to his eyes, but he forces himself to answer in a choked voice, “Guillermo the Heartless.”

Guillermo squeezes Nandor’s fingers and hums in acknowledgement. They’re getting close to the end now; the corridor is lit in a golden glow that wraps around them and eases the ache in Nandor’s chest. Guillermo-- _human Guillermo_ \--pauses just as they’re about to reach the last shelf of books. He turns to Nandor and raises his brows in question, “Do you really think he’s heartless?”

Nandor reaches into his pocket and closes his hand around the King of Hearts. He watches as Guillermo turns to the shelf and pulls down a volume. It’s different from all the others, bound in hot pink fabric and dusted with silver glitter. Frills line the edges of the covers and the spine is stamped with shiny, purple letters, _Corazón_. It reminds Nandor of his lucky scrunchie; the thought of it, sitting on his nightstand at home, overwhelms him with longing. He reaches out for the book, grasping one side while Guillermo holds the other. They watch the space on the shelf expand into another window. Nandor stiffens, afraid of what might be revealed, but Guillermo leans his comforting weight into his side and the fear eases. The scene unfolding this time is different. It’s not a memory, at least not one that Nandor can recall.

_Guillermo--_ **_his_ ** _Guillermo--sits on the couch in the library with Nandor at his feet as always. Nandor pillows his head in Guillermo’s lap, his eyes closed in sleepy serenity. His hair has grown back. It’s lustrous and full, twisted up on his head in a bun that Guillermo keeps toying with. He gives it a little tug and Nandor looks up at him expectantly._

_“C’mere, baby,” Guillermo invites, the words hushed. He pats the seat beside him. “You don’t belong down there anymore.”_

Outside the window, Nandor’s heart is in his throat. He chances a glance to the side and sees Guillermo’s mouth set in a little “o” of wonder.

_Nandor scrambles over Guillermo’s lap, curling up beside him and latching on like a barnacle. He rests his head on Guillermo’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck and wrapping an arm around his middle. The sigh that escapes him is so full of love and gratitude that Guillermo’s mouth waters. Guillermo ducks his head, bonking his forehead with Nandor’s and nudging him into a gentle, languid kiss. Nandor whimpers, his large, powerful frame melting against his master’s smaller body. He cups Guillermo’s stubbled cheeks in his hands and darts his tongue out, licking into Guillermo’s mouth enthusiastically. Guillermo smirks into the kiss, snaking a hand upward and snagging the pink scrunchie from Nandor’s hair. Luxurious strands fall around his face. Guillermo loops the scrunchie around his own wrist before plunging his fingers into Nandor’s beautiful mane, cradling his head and deepening the kiss._

_The kiss gradually tapers into loving pecks and languous licks. Finally, they are simply holding onto one another, pressing their foreheads together and breathing each other’s air. Guillermo smiles, light dancing in his gaze as he gathers Nandor’s hair up into another bun, lovingly securing the scrunchie around it. It flops down against the back of Nandor’s head, loose and messy. Nandor wobbles his head a little, laughing when half his hair falls down again. Guillermo tucks it behind his ear, his voice thickening with emotion as he speaks, “I love you, Nandor.”_

_Nandor grins, revealing the gleaming points of newly minted fangs, “I love you too, Guillermo.”_

The window shrinks back down. Nandor and Guillermo stand side by side, shoulders pressed together, holding the pink book between them. Neither of them wants to let it go, but they know they can’t keep it. Together, sniffling and holding back tears, they place the book back on the shelf. 

When Nandor turns back to Guillermo he finds the little human looking up at him with an expression of absolute wonder. Nandor ducks his head and blushes--but rather than feeling his cheeks heat up, they feel cold and tingly. Another strange side effect of this place, he supposes. 

“Do you…” Guillermo clears his throat, adjusts his wire-framed glasses and starts over. “Do you really love--him?”

Suddenly, Nandor thinks he knows how _his_ Guillermo must feel when he tastes emotions. Because he can sense the awe, hope and desolation that pours out of Guillermo with this question. Instead of answering right away, Nandor swallows his shyness, leans forward and presses his lips to Guillermo’s mouth in a chaste, gentle kiss. The human blossoms; warmth and happiness radiate off of him and the hall around them seems even brighter than it was a moment ago. Nandor pulls away, a smile tugging on his lips. 

“I really do, Guillermo,” he whispers.

Guillermo traces his fingers over his lips, smiling absently. After a moment his eyes sharpen and he looks up at Nandor with purpose. “Let’s get you home.”

They’re standing in a cozy little room, lit by the flickering flame of a single candle. A large, mahogany desk stands between them. Guillermo is opening drawers and sifting through piles of paper. Nandor looks around in wonder. There’s no sign of the long aisle of books that led them here. When he turns back around Guillermo looks at him with an expectant smile. 

“I’ll just need your library card.”

“But I haven’t got one,” Nandor admits, his stomach sinking. _Oh no._ He’ll never get home to his Guillermo.

But Guillermo smiles and shakes his head. “Sure you do. Isn’t it in your pocket?”

Nandor’s brows knit together in confusion. He reaches into his pocket, frowning as he removes the King of Hearts. He places the card on the desk between them. “But it’s not…”

“Yes, that looks right,” Guillermo interrupts, picking up the card and inspecting it. “Oh, but you’ve forgotten to sign it.”

He hands the card back over to Nandor. Nandor stares at the transformed little rectangle of paper. Where before there was an illustration of a bearded king in a red and gold robe, now there’s neat typewritten words and a line for his signature. He picks up a pen from the desk and lets it hover over the card, suddenly shy. In all his years with Simon he’d never been allowed to write (or read or do anything that didn’t serve Simon’s whims). Guillermo lets him buy all the notebook paper and craft supplies he wants, but he’s unaccountably embarrassed by his untidy scrawl.

Guillermo, as if sensing his nervousness, speaks soothingly, “It’s alright, Nandor. Just your first and last name on the line. Then you can go home.”

His fingers tighten on the pen and a tear falls down his cheek. “But...I don’t--I don’t know my last name.”

Guillermo reaches across the desk and places his hand over Nandor’s, squeezing gently. Nandor looks up at his master’s kind, soft, human eyes and his uncertainty falls away. He lowers the pen to the paper and signs his name.

\---

Guillermo cradles Nandor’s head in his lap, absorbing the van’s jarring bumps as they speed through the city streets on their way home. He can feel the prickling, lethal approach of dawn on the back of his neck, but he forces himself to remain steady and calm, trusting in Colin Robinson’s aggressive driving skills to get them to the house in time. Nadja and Laszlo sit across from him on the floor of the catering van. They’d stolen it from the small fleet of vehicles behind the Sassy Cat. They’ll have to do something about the club, the human thralls left behind, Simon’s surviving crew...but all of that can wait.

Guillermo strokes Nandor’s head, gently brushing over the healed cuts and the few tufts of hair that cling on stubbornly. Guillermo’s cheeks are stained red both from tears and holy water. He looks down at Nandor’s pale face and silently pleads with him. 

_Wake up wake up wake up_

_Please, I’ll never hurt you again... No one will ever hurt you again… You can hurt_ **_me_ ** _, if you want. You can punish me… I’ll walk on my knees for a hundred years at your feet… Please… I’ll be good, Nandor… I’ll be so good for you…_

The van jolts sharply as they run over a particularly egregious pot hole. For a moment, Nandor’s limp body is tossed upward and then he’s falling back into Guillermo’s lap, his arms springing to life and clinging to Guillermo’s blood-stained sweater. His eyes open, flashing with a preternatural gleam as he looks wildly about, confused, disoriented. 

“M-master?” he croaks in a ragged wounded voice. “Are we home yet?”

Guillermo’s face crumples with a sob and he drags his lover into a bruising embrace. He doesn’t care that Nandor’s hair is gone, or that his skin no longer feels hot and flushed with life. All that matters is that he’s still here. With him. Where he belongs.

“Almost, baby,” he whispers. He glances up at Nadja and Laszlo, both sporting matching, slow-to-heal wounds on their wrists. He beams gratitude at them before turning back to Nandor. “We’re almost home.”

[Image description: An illustration of a beige-colored sitting on a dark wood surface. It's printed with the heading: 'Library Card' and a multi-colored logo that looks like book spines. There's a line on the bottom of the card with the typewritten words 'Sign Your Name Above.' On the line, in shaky script is Nandor's signature: 'Nandor de la Cruz.']


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover that Nandor is a messy eater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I give my eternal thanks to Meli for beta reading this beast. You are amazing and talented and so generous with your creativity.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who continually helps me brainstorm ideas for this fic especially interrobam!
> 
> And a thousand thanks to everyone who keeps commenting time after time even when I take forever to respond. It means so much, seriously!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

It’s late. The sun has long since set, its ambient warmth fading from the walls of the house and leaving behind a chill that permeates the crypt. Nandor buries his face into his pillow, yawning deeply. When he inhales, a rich myriad of scents fills his nostrils: candle wax, laundry detergent, blood, argan oil, coconut butter. He should get up soon. Master will be annoyed if Nandor lets him sleep too late. But the bed is so soft and he’s so very tired.

His head pulses with pain; needles stab and poke the backs of his eyeballs. He swallows, his throat raw and tender as though he’s swallowed a mile of barbed wire. His arms and legs are heavy, immovable. And his stomach; his stomach churns with a deep, aching hunger that he’s never before felt, not even in the bad days when Simon starved him. A small, pitiful whine tumbles from his lips. Immediately, arms wrap around him from behind, strong and familiar. The nape of his neck is peppered in kisses and a voice— soft, sweet, cherished— whispers into his ear, “Welcome home, Nandor.”

_ Home… Guillermo…  _

The events of the last twenty-four hours crash down on Nandor at once. He crumples under the weight. His hands fly to his throat, frantically inspecting the place where Simon’s blade sank into his flesh. The wound is gone, but he can still feel the echo of the knife dragging across his throat, just as he still feels the sawing on his scalp and the impact of Simon’s punches on his cheekbones and the binding, strangling hold of hypnosis and the cruel plundering of his mouth and the vicious insults ringing in his ears and and and— 

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Guillermo quietly shushes him, cooing and humming under his breath and tightening his arms around him in a protective hug.

“It  _ hurts _ , master,” Nandor cries, his voice raspy and thick. And he’s not at all certain to which pain he’s referring. Is it the torturous twisting in his stomach? The stuttering, overwrought thump of the still-beating heart in his chest? The frost-bitten chill that won’t leave his fingertips? The memory of every pain he’s suffered in the last day, the last week, the last year? His whole damn life? Guillermo’s lips brush the shell of his ear as he whispers soothing nothings, but Nandor barely feels it, barely hears him. He’s remembering the  _ other _ Guillermo’s lips. The warmth of his skin and his soul.  _ He _ would never, ever hurt him. He’d never force Nandor to have sex with strangers or punish him for talking back or make him lie inside a scary coffin or kneel on the floor or… 

Master’s palm strokes a soothing path down his arm, but Nandor flinches away, jumping as if scalded by the touch. 

“You just need to feed, baby,” Guillermo suggests, a hint of nervous tension bleeding into his tone, as if he’s not sure of his own solution. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had your first meal. Do you understand, baby? Can you feel it? The change?”

The words barely register. Nandor is back in the dark library, racing down the unending tunnel of books and searching, searching for the light, the warmth, the love of a Guillermo who is dead and gone. He’s dead and Nandor wants to be dead and  _ why _ isn’t he dead? Wasn’t that the deal?  _ No! _ If Nandor dies then he won’t be with his master. He loves his master so much.  _ Please, master I love you _ .  _ Don’t kill me! _ The warring confusion within him is too much. Nandor lets out a wracking sob, spinning in Guillermo’s arms and smashing his tearstained face into his chest, desperately seeking comfort and safety. A part of him never wants to return to kneeling and serving and endlessly pleasing. While another part of him wants nothing more than to sink to his knees and grab on to his master’s legs and never let go. 

Words are coming from Nandor’s mouth, low and rumbly in his chest. He repeats them over and over, a plea to his master. His master, who always knows best. Who protects him and saves him and loves him and gives him clothes and food and kindness.  _ Oh, god _ , he’s in the cage again. Praying and pleading for Guillermo to come and rescue him; reaching for an invisible connection and finding only empty air.

“I want to go home.”

Guillermo pulls back a little; he frames Nandor’s face in his hands, thumbing away tears before he answers, “You  _ are _ home, baby. You’re here with me in our crypt, in your bed. You’re safe now. And I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again, baby. I promise.” 

Guillermo’s eyes are black holes that absorb all the light around them. But Nandor thinks he can see the spark, the flicker of flame that guided him back here, deep within their inky darkness.  _ Home _ . The world shifts around him. He’s not in the dark or the cage; he’s in his little bed with the silky sheets that Guillermo picked out for him. And it’s his master holding him. Not Simon… and not the _ other Guillermo.. _ . A shuddery breath escapes his lungs and his lower lip wobbles. “You came for me, master. Y-you saved me.  _ Thankyouthankyouthankyou _ .”

He fists his hands into the front of Guillermo’s cashmere sweater-vest, tugging him closer and surprising himself with the ease of the movement. His master falls against him and Nandor wraps him up in his long limbs, enveloping him in a desperate, crushing embrace. “A-and now we can be together, r-right, master?” Nandor mumbles, pressing kisses into Guillermo’s silky curls. “Y-you don’t n-need to kill me?”

\---

Nandor’s doubt and hope blend into a bittersweet draught that eclipses the poisonous fear, panic and regret of moments before. It flows over Guillermo, settling as a sting of tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat.  _ Oh, Nandor.  _

“No,” Guillermo’s voice is rough and thick with emotion. “I--baby, I wasn’t going to do it. I decided. I was going to tell you so... And then I— I woke up and you weren’t there. Do you remember what I said through the ether? Could you feel me like I could feel you? I love you, Nandor. I do.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “And we can be together now. For--forever. If you want.”

“Forever?” Nandor echoes, his voice failing him as he curls in on himself, clutching his stomach with a pained grimace. “Master, what is happening? It hurts so bad.”

Guillermo’s nerve fails him. He wants to fast-forward to happily-ever-after. To watching  _ Dog Cops _ on the couch and hunting together and making love and holding hands and Nandor standing straight and proud and powerful and never hunching his shoulders in fear again. But first, he must make this admission. First, he has to tell Nandor that he’s taken yet another choice from him.

“Nandor,” his voice is careful and measured, betraying none of his internal struggle.  _ Cold _ , he thinks.  _ Heartless _ .  _ How can they all be so wrong? _ “Do you remember what happened to you? What Simon did?”

Nandor blinks at him, his features twisted in pain, hand still pressed to his stomach. His eyes flick searchingly over Guillermo’s face and the older vampire can see his sweet boy scanning through decades of cruelty and pain, seeking the answer that Guillermo wants. He finally raises a hand to his neck and looks at Guillermo with wide, disbelieving eyes. “He— he killed me. I...the knife. I am remembering…”

“No, Nandor. He didn’t kill you.” Guillermo inhales, tastes his lover’s confusion and anguish, and steels himself for the flavor of betrayal. “I did. You were dying in my arms. And I tried to ask for your permission, Nandor. I promise, I did. But you were too far gone. I turned you,  _ querida _ .” He reaches up and brushes Nandor’s plump lips, softly touching the point of a fang underneath. “I made you a vampire because I couldn’t stand watching you die. Letting that  _ hijo de puta _ take you away. I didn’t let you decide, Nandor. I’m so sorry.”

\---

The bottom falls out of Nandor’s world.  _ Vampire _ . For as long as he can remember, the word has stood for fear, pain, misery, superiority, cruelty. Nandor has lived to serve vampires. He’s been used, degraded, forced to grovel and prostrate himself to them. He’s been taught that his only use, his only value, as a thing and a person, is in the ways that he can please vampires. Vampires don’t have masters. Vampires don’t serve. Vampires don’t turn little human sluts…

But Guillermo looks at Nandor like his whole world revolves around his reaction. Nandor thinks about the library, human Guillermo’s sweet, innocent kiss, the light that led him home, the sparkly, pink book with the title he didn’t understand. Only now, he thinks he might...

“I did decide.” He swallows against the burning pain that’s eating his insides, reaching a shaking hand up to cup his lover’s sweet cheek. Nandor’s love for Guillermo was the first thing in all his life that ever truly belonged to him. Even if Guillermo manipulated him. Even if he took away every other decision. That decision was always Nandor’s. “Guillermo. I  _ did _ decide.”

\---

Guillermo leaves him, “just for a minute, baby,” to retrieve the victim they have waiting in the cell. He’d asked Nadja to arrange it, knowing she has discerning tastes. She doesn’t disappoint. The man is in his thirties, not so young that his innocence will be an unpleasant reminder of Nandor’s own past, and not so old as to be unappealing. He’s short and a little plump, with dirty blond curls. Guillermo smirks; Nadja really knew what she was doing. The man stands as he approaches, holding his hands out protectively and offering a plaintive cry, “Please, don’t— ”

Guillermo’s voice cuts him off at once. “You are now under my complete command. You will do everything that I tell you. You are so happy to obey me. You won’t feel any pain. You won’t struggle or fight. You feel safe and happy.”

“I feel safe and happy,” the man repeats in a dull monotone, his face gone slack. Guillermo pushes every last ounce of his influence into him. Nandor is so very gentle; caring for the thralls when they are sick, trying to make friends with the squirrels in the yard… Guillermo feels the wretched tragedy of turning his sweet, innocent dream boy into a killer. If he can do something to soothe him, to make it less horrible… he has to try.

He leads the man into the crypt with a hand on his shoulder. The human’s movements are loose and clumsy. He bumps into the doorjamb as they enter. 

Nandor is sitting up on the bed, surrounded by a nest of sheets and blankets. Seeing him shorn of his beautiful, long hair is still a shock, but Guillermo schools his expression into one of affection and encouragement. The hair will grow back and Nandor will heal. Guillermo prays to the god of his mortal life that this is true.

“He’s hypnotized,” Guillermo explains gently, never taking his eyes from Nandor as he guides the man forward, arranging him on the bed beside Nandor. The human allows himself to be manipulated like a rag doll, eyes glazed and unseeing. Nandor grimaces, flinching away in obvious disgust even as his lips part and he emits a foreign hiss of desire and hunger. 

\---

Nandor’s mouth is watering; his stomach lurches and a new, savage instinct rages at him to pounce and savage and eat. He can hear the man’s thrumming pulse, the rushing flow of blood in his veins. His cheeks are flushed with it and the air of the crypt blossoms with the heady, delicious bouquet. Nandor leans forward involuntarily before catching himself and scooting back until he hits the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“I c-can’t, master,” he cries, seeking Guillermo’s eyes and begging for understanding. “H-he is looking just like me when--when I was Simon’s…”

Guillermo stares between the human and Nandor; his face clouded in self-doubt. “I could remove the hypnosis. But...he’ll be afraid, Nandor. I thought this would be easier for you. This way he won’t feel any pain. It’ll be like going to sleep.”

_ Like going to sleep. _

Nandor remembers when Guillermo gave him that very promise. Sweetly explaining how nice he’d make it for him when he finally killed him. He looks at the human, sitting there, legs sprawled casually over the bedsheets, face vacant yet smiling slightly. Was this the fate awaiting him all those months? Until his master finally admitted to his own feelings?

He’s so hungry. He could just reach forward and pluck the man like a ripe grape. Suck out all his juices and feel better. But then the man would be dead; a corpse; a lifeless shell that Nandor created. The idea makes his gorge rise and he dry heaves, digging his fingers into the bare skin of his scalp and moaning. 

“Master, I’m so hungry.”

Guillermo sits down behind him on the bed, drawing Nandor into his lap and wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. “It’s alright, baby. You can do this. It’s just like when you first came to me, isn’t it? Remember how big and strong you got for me when you started eating? You’re going to be amazing, Nandor. You just have to eat. Can you do this for me, baby? Please?”

Nandor leans into Guillermo’s side, sighing in relief. He knows this. This desire to please, to be good. He finds himself nodding against Guillermo’s ample, plush shoulder, sniffling his tears away and reaching out tentatively towards the victim. 

“Wh-what do I…?”

Guillermo reaches around Nandor and grabs the man, sliding him into Nandor’s lap in an easy motion that betrays his superhuman strength. Nandor stiffens at once; the call of the man’s blood is overwhelming. He snaps at the air in furious hunger, saliva pooling in his mouth. Guillermo puts a calm hand on his chest and gently holds him back. He gestures to the crook of the man’s neck, his delicate fingers tracing the human’s skin as he instructs. 

“Bite him just here, Nandor.” Guillermo’s voice is a murmur that caresses the shell of Nandor’s ear. Nandor’s spine lengthens as he leans into the touch even as his whole body is screaming at him to tear, maul and  _ drink _ . Guillermo smiles at his lover's impatience. “Don’t worry about biting too hard, baby. Just a little nick is enough with your new teeth. Are you ready?”

Nandor nods in response, never taking his eyes off the flushed and pulsing flesh of the victim’s throat. The man sits there dumbly, totally unaware of the imminent danger. Nandor feels Guillermo’s hand on the back of his head, pressing him forward in a motion that’s all too familiar. Only this time Guillermo isn’t forcing Nandor to pleasure a party guest, or guiding him down onto their roommate’s deformed cock; this time Guillermo leads Nandor to succor, murmuring gentle praise as he does so. 

“That’s it, baby. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. You feel his pulse? Can you smell the blood? Alright, now bite down, nice and gentle— “

Nandor lets out a feral growl the instant his lips brush the victim’s feverishly warm skin. His arms wrap instinctively around the man’s torso. He stretches his jaws, striking like a rattlesnake, ripping into the tender flesh. The human makes no sound at all; he melts into Nandor’s embrace like an eager lover, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as Nandor’s fangs pierce skin. Nandor knows it’s a lie, but it’s a pleasant lie. A kind lie. And the heavy, decadent ambrosia that fills his mouth soon eclipses all rational thought. 

At the first gulp, he groans wantonly, grinding his teeth down harder into the brutalized throat in an effort to get closer to the source. The taste is transcendent. Better than hawaiian pizza, frappuccinos and cookie dough ice cream combined. It’s crisp yet heavy; tangy and sweet… intoxicating. Nandor feels light-headed with the sheer pleasure of it. He reaches a hand up and presses his massive palm into the side of the man’s face, wrenching the head to one side in order to allow himself better access.

The audible crack doesn’t penetrate the veil shrouding Nandor’s senses. Nor does he notice the way all barriers seem to fall away and he is suddenly submerged directly into the heady, delicious fountain, drinking and drinking and drinking his fill. It’s not until the well runs dry and Nandor begins to come down from the high of bloodlust, that he’s confronted with the reality of what he’s done.

Smacking his lips together, Nandor swallows the last few drops, letting the body fall down to the bed. It lands in an awful, inert heap. He blinks down at it, his mind slow to parse the sight of gore and blood and something else… something  _ wrong _ . Nandor’s vision finally clears and he takes in the gruesome tableau before him. The man’s head hangs from his neck at an odd angle, held on by only a sliver of skin and gristle. He smiles up at Nandor, face frozen forever in dumb, compelled good humor.

Nandor starts to shake. The feeling of healthful well-being provided by the blood is tarnished by the rising flood of horror and self-disgust that drowns him. He brings his hands up to cover his eyes, but recoils in disgust at the sight of the lurid, red blood stains. Sobbing, nonsensical apologies fall from his lips as he reaches towards the grisly corpse.

“I’m s-sorry! S-so sorry. I d-didn’t mean it.” He crawls over the body, taking the head in his hands and trying fruitlessly to fit it back onto the nearly-severed neck. “I am making it better for y-you. I wanted to be gentle. I d-didn’t— I was not meaning to be hurting!” His hands slip into the gore of the open stump between the man’s shoulders. He barely notices, working frantically to heal the carnage somehow.

“Nandor!” Guillermo’s voice is a rope thrown out to him through the tumultuous waters of his panic. “Baby! Stop, he’s gone now. You didn’t hurt him. Come here.”

Nandor’s hands fall to his sides, trembling. His shoulders hunch inward and he turns to look at Guillermo with hooded, guilt-stricken eyes. He blanches at the sight of Guillermo’s face. His dark chocolate eyes are rounded in concern and kindness behind thick-frame glasses; his perfectly bowed lips purse in a sympathetic frown… and his cheeks are splattered in bright, red arterial blood. Nandor grabs at the front of Guillermo sweater-vest, bunching the material in his fists and dragging the other vampire forward in a desperate, longing, broken embrace.

He doesn’t notice the fabric tearing like tissue paper beneath his hands.

\---

Guillermo leads Nandor by the hand to the upstairs bathroom. He tugs him gently up the stairs, whispering praise and encouragement along the way. Nandor makes himself small, tucking into Guillermo’s side and dropping his head onto his shoulder as they walk. Guillermo turns and presses a kiss into Nandor’s few remaining, wispy hairs. The familiarity of this position is as much a comfort to Guillermo as it is to Nandor. So much has happened, so much has changed so rapidly. He thinks they both need to cling onto their old routine for a little while longer. 

The body is abandoned; but Guillermo resolves to do something about it before allowing Nandor back into the crypt. Already the loss of the household’s thralls is a marked inconvenience. He’ll need to do something about that soon. There are many things he’ll need to attend to sooner rather than later. But tonight all he cares about is taking care of his boy.

As he prepares the bath, Nandor hovering in the corner and watching him with wide, haunted eyes, Guillermo is reminded of the night of the coffin punishment. The memory brings a grimace to his lips as he turns the knob, releasing steaming hot water into the tub. Nandor’s sweet voice from inside the coffin, asking if the punishment was almost over; the way he clung to Guillermo afterwards and apologized for his ‘bad’ behavior. Guillermo turns around and gazes at Nandor with remorse on his blood-marred features.

He speaks in his soft voice. The same voice he uses to whisper love into Nandor’s ears and the same one he’s used in the past to punish and degrade him. “Nandor, will you take a bath with me?”

Nandor’s eyes widen. He takes a step forward, reaching his hands out tentatively. Guillermo rushes to meet him, clasping Nandor’s large hands inside his own; his blunt, pudgy fingers pressing into the meat of Nandor’s palms.

“R-really, master?” Nandor’s voice comes out rough and hesitant. His fangs catch his lower lip, giving him the slightest, adorable lisp. He is soft and vulnerable and damaged. But as his long fingers tighten around Guillermo’s, the older vampire reminds himself that Nandor is also powerful and untested. It’s been so long since Guillermo’s first night as a vampire, the details have faded. But he can still recall the confusion and terror. He wants to save Nandor from that, to wrap him up in a soft blanket and protect him from everything that could ever hurt him. Himself included. 

Guillermo nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. The tang of Nandor’s pleased wonder is tainted by the still-lingering remnants of anguish following his feeding. “Really, baby. And… you don’t have to call me that. I’m not your master anymore.”

For a few seconds Nandor’s eyes shine with panic and he sputters in protest, “But… I-I’m still good, m-master. I’m sorry for making a mess of the bed. I-I’ll clean it up, I’ll—” 

“Hush,” Guillermo interjects, putting his finger to Nandor’s lips. “You are my good boy, Nandor, always. That’s not what I meant. I meant--” He pauses, swallowing the echo of pride that kept him silent for so very long. Almost too long. “I meant that now we can be more than that.”

Nandor stares searchingly into Guillermo’s eyes, breath caught in his throat. The only sound in the little room is the pounding rush of water filling the tub. The air fills with steam, turning humid and hazy around them. This feels like a dream. These words, this promise… Guillermo has listened to Nandor dream about this very moment countless times; his pitiful, weepy voice crying out through the ether while Guillermo slept, cold and remote in his coffin. He watches the cautious hope that blooms in Nandor’s gaze.

“Like… like when we pretended?” Nandor’s voice is a shy rasp. He ducks his eyes away from Guillermo’s penetrating gaze; his fearful optimism clouding the air around them.

Guillermo squeezes Nandor’s fingers. “Yes, only… only no more pretending.”

\---

Nandor sinks into the scalding hot water with a blissful sigh. He hadn’t realized how deeply the chill in his fingers and toes had penetrated. His very bones feel frozen, but the enveloping heat of the bath helps. Squinting his eyes shut and taking a deep, unnecessary breath, he plunges beneath the surface, emerging a few seconds later, lips sputtering and newly reminded of the devastating loss of his beautiful hair. The feel of the hot water directly against his scalp is  _ wrong _ . As he opens his eyes, he notes with a sorrowful pang that the water is turning pink with the blood that sloughs from his hands and face. He tries to ignore it, turning instead to look at his master… his Guillermo. 

Nandor lays his forearm along the high lip of the ancient soapstone tub, resting his chin on top and watching Guillermo undress. Guillermo catches him looking and his lips curve in a smug grin. Nandor feels the blood borrowed from his victim fill his cheeks in a blush but he doesn’t look away.  _ This is allowed now isn’t it? _ He wants to ask but he knows he shouldn’t. It would make Guillermo’s eyes sad again if Nandor seemed too vulnerable, too afraid. Nandor doesn’t want to be a simpering, fearful human slave anymore. He wants to be cool and confident like Guillermo; a worthy boyfriend for his perfect master. But still he longs for reinforcement, for boundaries, for rules. There is safety and comfort in knowing what’s permitted of him.

He pushes those conflicting thoughts away and instead enjoys the view. Guillermo tugs the black button-down shirt from the waistband of his pants, deftly removing the glittery wool sweater vest he wears on top, and folding it into a neat square on top of the toilet. He starts in on the row of buttons marching from the base of his stubbled neck, down the gentle slope of his chest and the curve of his belly. Nandor’s eyes follow his blunt fingers as they fiddle with each button. He’s startled from his intense scrutiny by the sound of Guillermo’s gently murmuring voice. 

“What are you thinking about, baby?” Guillermo has taken off his glasses and Nandor relishes the chance to fall into those warm, brown eyes without a barrier between them. 

The hot water, the humid air and his full belly cast a spell on Nandor. He speaks without his usual filter of timid diffidence. “I am thinking how you are very handsome… Guillermo.” It feels strange not to use the honorific. Nandor is not sure if he likes it or not, but the smile that shines from Guillermo’s face makes it worth it. He curls his legs up under the soapy water, hanging from the edge of the tub, expecting to float and finding that his vampiric body sinks like a stone. His eyes flick downward, watching as Guillermo’s pale golden skin is gradually revealed to him. His fingers clench around the lip of the tub and the solid stone groans under the stress. 

“Well…” Guillermo muses, finally parting the edges of his shirt and allowing Nandor a view of his faintly-haired chest: the soft, touchable swell of his breasts, a glimpse of dark, rosy nipples, the delicious hillocks of his stomach. Nandor swallows, aching to reach out and touch. Years of restriction and obedience weigh upon him, keeping his hands in place. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking about?”

The shirt slides off Guillermo’s broad, slightly sloped shoulders. Nandor loves watching his upper body as he moves, folding the shirt and setting it down neatly with the vest. Powerful muscles bunch and tense in Guillermo’s arms and back, but a generous layer of fat softens his lethal frame. Nandor’s eyes rove over his flesh with loving adoration. Thoughts of nearly-headless bodies, worries about Simon, memories of suffering, all settle to the back of his mind as he watches Guillermo’s hands move to the waist of his pants. 

“Nandor?”

Nandor shakes his head and meets Guillermo’s eye with a bashful blush. “I… what was the question?”

Guillermo chuckles, popping the button open and drawing the zipper down with an obscene scraping sound that fills the little room. He steps closer to the tub and leans down, pressing a kiss to Nandor’s forehead before answering, “I’m thinking about how happy I am that I get to keep you. If… if you want me to, I mean. You have a choice now, you know.”

He draws back, leaving Nandor clinging to the side of the tub and looking up at him with perplexity shining in his eyes. He thinks back to the dark library, his kiss with human Guillermo, and the name he signed before waking in his master’s arms once more.

“I have been already telling you, master,” he answers, ducking lower in the water to hide beneath the rim of the tub. “I decided.”

Guillermo’s cheeks dimple as he smiles, his face transforming. How can he look so cold and scary sometimes, and so like a soft, gentle lover at others? The thought quickly strays from Nandor’s mind as Guillermo dips his thumbs into the waist of his skin-tight boxer briefs and pushes them down along with his pants. Nandor sucks in a breath as Guillermo straightens. Thick, gently dimpled thighs frame a thatch of dark brown curls and the heavy, soft curve of Guillermo’s flaccid shaft. Nandor’s throat bobs as he swallows, tension easing from his shoulders. He’s so very tired and raw; knowing that Guillermo is not expecting anything beyond a bath is a soothing relief.

Guillermo steps up to the side of the tub and nudges Nandor’s shoulder with a gentle hand. Nandor shifts, allowing room for Guillermo to slip into the steaming water behind him. He watches over his shoulder as Guillermo cups the water in his hands and splashes his face, rinsing away all evidence of Nandor’s disastrous first meal as a vampire. The thought suddenly clicks in Nandor’s mind: he’s a vampire. He reaches up a hand to his own mouth, probing his teeth and tracing the wicked edges of twin fangs. He feels Guillermo watching him and his hand slips down beneath the surface of the water, brushing against the soft inside of Guillermo’s thigh. 

“How do you feel?” Guillermo murmurs, lazily scrubbing his chest with his hands. Nandor’s eyes track the movements of his fingers over his soapy skin. He licks his lips. 

“I feel…” He flounders. How does he feel? The phantom aches of human suffering still prick and tingle along the surface of his skin: the wound at his throat, his raw scalp, bruises and cuts all over. They’re all healed, but he feels them still. He turns his awareness inward and is startled to realize that his heart still beats in his chest. But it’s an awkward, fluttering arrhythmia that makes him uneasy. And now that he’s adjusted to the temperature of the bath, the creeping, icy cold is beginning to blossom in his limbs once more. “I feel cold. And shaky. M-master, will you hold me?”

Guillermo opens his arms and Nandor spins towards him, falling forward and sending a typhoon of water shooting over the side of the tub as he slaps down onto Guillermo’s chest. Guillermo engulfs him in his strong arms; Nandor nuzzles his face into the smooth, supple flesh beneath his cheek. He digs his fingers into Guillermo’s sides, hard enough to break the skin with his razor sharp nails. A rich, honey-sweet scent fills his nostrils and Nandor realizes it’s Guillermo’s blood blooming into the water of their bath. Something comes over him and he digs his fingers in harder, hiding his face against Guillermo’s breast and sobbing out every hurt and every wrong that lives within him.

It all pours out of him in one, long, wailing stream of misery. Things he’s never told Guillermo before. Things he barely admits to himself. That he watched his friends die and after a while he grew jealous of them; he began to hate them for escaping, even through death. That he had tried for far, far too long to make Simon love him, hoping to earn compassion and kindness that Simon was enver capable of. That Simon would toy with him, allowing him to escape but wiping from his brain any memory of his home, his family, or how to find help. 

Guillermo’s hands glide over the wet surface of Nandor’s skin, rubbing up and down his arm, his shoulder, cupping his cheek. He places kisses on the bald crown of Nandor’s head and Nandor hears a faint litany of apologies sighing off his lips.  _ I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry. Never again, baby… _

And Nandor, holding onto his precious Guillermo for strength and bravery, finally speaks. Really speaks. 

“Y-you hurt me too, master.” It feels as though he’s stabbing a knife into his own stomach and Guillermo’s simultaneously. But the  _ other _ Guillermo’s face floats to the surface of his memories and he can almost hear his soft, sweet voice urging him to speak the words. He can’t begin again if he doesn’t. “You m-made me hurt myself. You forced me— forced me to be doing things w-with other vampires even though I never wanted to touching— to be touching anyone except y-you. And you punished me and made me feel bad and forced me to sit on the floor even when it was cold and and… you put me in the c-coffin. I l-love you, master. But… but you did those things to me and you shouldn’t have.”

The words leave his mouth, taking flight in the steamy air and fluttering around them like moths. He knows they’ve hurt Guillermo, he can sense it in the tensing of his muscles, but Nandor feels like a constricting band around his chest has finally been loosened. He relaxes against Guillermo, bonelessly sagging in his arms and curling his legs up beneath the surface of the water. He shuts his eyes and breathes in the foggy air, awaiting his master’s-- his lover’s reaction.

“You’re right,” Guillermo’s voice is barely there. He swirls his fingers in circles against Nandor’s shoulder as he speaks. Nandor feels the vibration rumbling gainst his cheek and he smiles faintly, sleepily. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way. You… you were special to me. You  _ are _ special to me. And I figured that out much sooner than I cared to admit to myself. I tried to pretend like you were just another human thrall, a slave… a meal. Because I didn’t want to be… vulnerable. I didn’t want to admit that you make me feel—” His voice chokes up. Nandor’s eyes remain closed. The water is so warm and Guillermo’s arms feel so nice; he’s skimming the surface of oblivion. “You make me feel human, Nandor. Like that pathetic, dreaming, hopeless librarian who pined for the idea of you before you were even born. And that scared me. And I don’t like feeling scared, Nandor. So I… I hurt you.”

Nandor reaches up a soapy hand, patting Guillermo’s cheek and smiling without opening his heavy lids. “You’re a cute librarian, master,” he murmurs, his words slurring with exhaustion. 

He can feel Guillermo’s bemused smile even if he isn’t looking.

“And you’re my cute, handsome, once-in-an-eternity dreamboy, Nandor,” he answers.

Nandor is asleep.

\---

Guillermo washes Nandor, gently and tenderly cleansing away the blood, rubbing soap and moisturizing body wash into his luminescent, pale-bronze skin. Nandor remains dead to the world, utterly exhausted from his first night as a vampire and the turmoil that preceded it. While Guillermo attends to him, his mind drifts over the man’s words. Lingering on his broken English and trembling voice. Guillermo hurt Nandor. He can never take that back.

But as he cleans the gore from his lover’s dear body, he begins to think there may be a way to make amends.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New thralls arrive at the Dark Gigi household...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two very special people to thank this time!
> 
>  **Spiff/Interrobam** : Thank you thank you thank you FOREVER for listening to me and giving me very nice support when I was sad. And more importantly for basically COMING UP WITH THE ENTIRE PREMISE OF THIS CHAPTER (More on this in the End Note). I say this all the time, but it's not just a platitude: Dark Gigi wouldn't be the same without the input and wild speculation I've received from the folks reading it. 
> 
> **Safetyhazard** : Thank you for beta reading! And for being my new friend in Harvey adoration. Your comments, edits and suggestions were just what I needed. Your questions helped me clarify things and I think this chapter is so much nicer thanks to your work. You get a fandom star sticker. 
> 
> **Readers like you!** : Hey... guys? Hey guys? Listen, have I told you lately that I think of this fic as my darling baby? I may have mentioned this once or a hundred times. And the people who consistently read and comment on every chapter make me feel so very happy. I love you guys so much. Oh, no! Stop being so mushy! This is Dark Gigi! There's no sentimentality in Dark Gigi! Or is therrrrrrreereeererere????
> 
> **ENJOY!**

On her first day in Master Guillermo’s household, Mirabelle and the other thralls are tasked with clearing away the corpses of their predecessors. The grisly pile of bodies at the bottom of the basement stairs has obviously been putrefying for several days by the time they get to it. Their new master stands silhouetted at the top of the staircase, looking down at them with his cold, black gaze. A trickle of ice water creeps down Mirabelle’s spine.

She locks eyes with another thrall, a man a few years older than her whose name she’s never learned. His eyes mirror her own fear. They’ve all heard tales of Guillermo the Heartless. Master Simon spoke bitterly of his ex-intended. Cruel, unnatural, wicked. They say he feeds off your misery, growing stronger as he tortures you. They say he drinks _vampire_ blood! They say he’s ten times worse than Master Simon…

Mirabelle can’t fathom anything worse than Simon. She quickly averts her eyes, joining the other humans in the slow, nauseating effort of disentangling the moldering limbs. All the while she wonders what these poor wretches did to anger her new master and how on earth she can avoid their fate.

The work is good. It distracts her from the churning anxiety that’s been brewing in her belly since the night of the attack on _The Sassy Cat_. The thralls had listened to the violent commotion, rigid with fear and trapped inside their cages. A whole night and day passed before anyone came for them. They’d been shuffled around from werewolf to energy vampire to witch; no one knew quite what to do with the mute, terrorized humans. Then, finally, Guillermo had summoned them. 

The relief of having a _purpose_ and a _place_ was quickly snuffed out by Mirabelle’s crippling fear of the vampire whom even _Master Simon_ had described as a nightmarish monster...

Dismembering and burying the corpses takes hours. When Mirabelle finally puts down her shovel it feels like her arms will float away from her body with the sudden relief. Splinters stud her palms; the muscles in her shoulders spasm involuntarily. The life of a thrall isn’t easy, but Simon hadn’t put Mirabelle to hard labor like this. He had _other_ uses for her… She finds she prefers the exhaustion. 

Still, when the work is done she longs for her little cage at Simon’s nightclub. She could curl up and sleep for three days. Instead Colin Robinson, the energy vampire, herds them back to the house. He leads them into a tiny kitchen where the weary, bedraggled thralls gather around him, awaiting instruction. There are six of them, three women and three men: the last human survivors of Simon’s twisted household. They are scarred, skinny and traumatized. When Colin presents them with a steaming vat of stew simmering on the stove, no one is willing to be the first to step forward. 

_It’s a trick. It’s poisoned. They’ll be punished if they eat. Human thralls don’t deserve hot meals. Human sluts eat scraps and thank their masters for their generosity._

The thoughts clang through Mirabelle’s head like pennies in a tin can, striking sensitive nerves and leaving her a trembling wreck under Colin Robinson’s ice-blue stare. She doesn’t need to look at her companions to know that they are much the same. None of them has been offered the kindness of a full belly in years. The room is silent and still except for the soft whimpering and cringing of the thralls. It seems like the tension will go on forever, with the energy vampire happily gorging on their uncertainty and misery.

But then Master Guillermo enters the room, gliding soundlessly up to Colin and murmuring into his ear. Mirabelle shrinks in on herself even more. Guillermo’s presence steals the air from the room, engulfing her in a freezing chill. With Simon, she understood what to expect, even if it was horrible. With this new master, Mirabelle’s life is thrown into the petrifying unknown. 

Her palms sweat and there’s a ringing in her ears, making it impossible to discern the vampires’ hushed conversation. She is certain that the punishment and torture will finally begin. They are about to learn why they call him Guillermo the Heartless. As he whispers, his eyes flick over the group, meeting Mirabelle’s for an agonizing instant. It feels like staring into a black hole. She jerks her attention away, staring furiously at her own feet instead.

After a few moments he leaves the room. But before the thralls have a chance to sigh in relief, he returns. Behind him trails a tall, brawny vampire with a close-cropped buzz cut. The newcomer has a thick beard of rich, dark brown hair, soulful chestnut eyes, and a strikingly rugged nose that juts out proudly from his face. He offers them a timid half-smile, fangs catching his lower lip and drawing the slightest bead of blood. The vampire licks it away, looking embarrassed.

Mirabelle lowers her gaze respectfully, noting as she does the vampire’s bewildering outfit. He’s dressed in a thin, short-sleeved V-neck that teases at the thick layer of hair covering his chest. The shirt is decorated in purple bubble letters that spell out _“Be Yourself.”_ His thickly muscled arms taper into delicate wrists around which he wears no fewer than six glittery scrunchies. The long lines of his legs are hugged by tight, dark wash jeans that end just above the ankle. Finally, Mirabelle’s gaze comes to rest on the thick, striped socks covering his feet. She blushes and prays to no god in particular that the vampire hasn’t noticed her impertinent perusal.

Never in her life has she seen a vampire dressed in clothing so whimsical and… _human_ . She can’t help it, she darts her eyes to Master Guillermo, intent on contrasting the strange vampire’s appearance with the dark vision of her new master. Guillermo is clad all in black: shiny brocade vest and meticulously tailored dress shirt and pants. The only splash of color comes from his glittering silver wingtips. But as she looks, she’s struck not by their differences but by the _change_ that has come over her master. Where before his face was cold, solid marble, now it practically glows with soft warmth. He’s gazing at the bigger vampire with a look of such naked devotion that it takes Mirabelle’s breath away. She gawps rudely as Guillermo’s lips curve into a lopsided grin and he squeezes his hand around the vampire’s broad shoulder.

“This,” he says, finally turning to address the thralls in a clear, surprisingly mellifluous voice, “is Master Nandor. He’s going to help you all get settled in here. You will show him the same respect and deference that you show to me and every other vampire. Is that understood?”

The thralls answer in a trembling chorus, “Yes, master.”

“ _Good thralls_ ,” Guillermo answers, and Mirabelle is startled to feel the long-forgotten glow of pleasing her master. Simon was… impossible to satisfy. She shivers, shaking her head to cast the memories aside. When she looks up again, Guillermo has turned back to Master Nandor and is speaking lower but still audibly, “You’re gonna do great, baby. I trust you…”

Nandor slips his fingers under the elastic band of a scrunchie and twists it nervously, shifting from foot to foot and ducking his head. “What if they don’t like me? The other thralls never _liked_ me…”

 _Oh._ Mirabelle’s mind flashes back to the pile of dead bodies at the bottom of the stairs. Mauled, brutalized, thrown away like trash. Had Guillermo executed them for displeasing this strange vampire? The smell of decaying flesh comes back to her and she swallows against the lump in her throat.

Guillermo enfolds Nandor in a tender embrace, pressing kisses to the short hair on the crown of his head and whispering encouragement. The taller vampire finally breaks away, standing up straighter. Nandor gives an uncertain nod, cueing Colin to drift out of the room and Guillermo to fall back against the far wall, observing as Nandor steps forward to address the group. Mirabelle trembles.

“So…” His voice sounds timid and he’s still fidgeting with the scrunchies on his wrists, but he looks each of them in the face as he speaks. “Welcome, guys! I am pleased to be meeting you. As Guillermo said, my name is Nandor and you can think of me as your… special... big... vampire friend in the household!”

There’s a muffled snort from the far side of the kitchen where Master Guillermo perches on a counter, idly swinging his short legs. Nandor glances over his shoulder and Mirabelle notes the affectionate look that Guillermo sends him, gesturing for him to keep going. When Nandor turns back to them his smile is a little easier. 

This is not at all how Mirabelle imagined Guillermo the Heartless. She peeks at him from under her lashes and marvels at the steady, warm glow burning in eyes that, only moments ago, seemed like black pits to her. She has known thralls who thought they could win their masters’ love, but Mirabelle never allowed herself to believe that vampires have the capacity for love. Now, watching her new masters, her mind is a tangled confusion of questions and broken certainties.

Nandor pauses before continuing. He frowns, eyes scanning the weary, terrorized faces before him. “There is no needing to be frightened! We are not going to _eat_ you. And no one will be hypnotized—”

“Uh, baby? I never said—”

Nandor whips around at the interruption. A silent exchange takes place between the two vampires. Mirabelle can’t see Nandor’s face, but his shoulders are hitched up defensively. Guillermo widens his eyes meaningfully, the muscle in his jaw jumping, but only seconds later she witnesses his mouth soften, his lips part and his eyebrows draw upward. It’s almost as if they’re having a conversation without speaking.

Guillermo finally shakes his head as if in disbelief at himself. “Alright… _alright_ , no hypnotism,” he capitulates. 

Mirabelle quickly looks around and sees that the other thralls appear just as breathless with wonder and confusion as she feels. Hypnosis is simply a fact of life for a thrall. A horrible, hurtful fact. It feels like they’re telling her that the sky is green. Beliefs that she’d held to be immutable are now suddenly in question. She feels shaky and frightened.

Nandor’s smile is all fangs and pure joy as he turns back to them. “You see? Master Guillermo isn’t scary. He’s very good and kind and you must all do as he says and then everything will be okay-a!”

A few mumbled “yes, masters” answer him and Nandor beams.

“Also, you can be calling me Nandor, if you want.”

Mirabelle wonders if she’s just having a bizarre dream. Maybe she’ll wake up in her cage back at _The Sassy Cat_ . She hopes the water bottle is full. She hopes no one has stolen from the meager hoard of scraps under her blanket. But then… Mirabelle has never felt _tired_ in a dream before.

Nandor gathers them all around the tiny, rickety kitchen table, guiding them into mismatched chairs as if it’s normal to allow humans on furniture. The thralls fidget nervously in their seats, watching with round, disbelieving eyes as their new master walks over to the stove. He picks up a ceramic bowl from a stack beside the pot. The dish breaks with a loud, sharp crack that causes half the thralls to jump. Shards smash to the floor and Nandor cries out in dismay, hurrying to pick up the sharp pieces. 

Mirabelle’s instincts shout at her to rush in and assist, to take over the menial chore from her master. Glancing around the table, she sees the others looking uncertain as well. None of them is sure what’s allowed. Perhaps they should help, perhaps they will be punished for leaving their seats.

In the end, they watch in mute fascination as Guillermo steps in, crouching down beside Nandor, whose shoulders have begun to hitch in silent sobs. 

“It’s just a bowl, baby,” he soothes, rubbing his hand down the long curve of Nandor’s spine.

“N-no, it’s not!” Nandor hisses, the words cracking. “I break everything I touch now, m-master!”

Guillermo glances up, taking in the staring faces of the gobsmacked thralls. Mirabelle quickly lowers her head, watching beneath her lashes as Guillermo turns back to Nandor. 

_Master? He’d called Guillermo master?_

“You’re doing fine, baby. C’mon, let me help you.”

So, Guillermo the Heartless serves stew to his thralls, gently placing the steaming bowls before each human as Nandor supervises, smiling and encouraging his new charges to eat slowly so as not to upset their starving stomachs.

When the meal is finished Mirabelle feels a foreign sense of well-being fall over her like a veil. She’s full and warm and so sleepy. She’s too tired to think about her strange new masters, or to worry what the future will hold for her here. Even if this does turn out to be a weird dream, at least it’s ending like this. She finds herself smiling ever so slightly as she catches Master Nandor’s eye from across the table.

“Was that yummy yummy?” he asks and then, without waiting for a reply, “Good. I’m glad. Now we just have one more thing before bedtime… Introductions! Let’s go around the table and everyone say your name and one thing about yourself. I will start: My name is Nandor and I love reading and hair accessories.”

He turns to his right where Guillermo is sitting with an arched brow and an unamused frown. “They know who I am.”

Nandor drops his head to the side with a slight eye roll. “No, but… this is for ice breaking! Colin Robinson showed me an article about it!” When Guillermo continues to look unconvinced Nandor drops his gaze and adds in a hushed tone, “Please, master.”

Mirabelle’s sleepy brain had been jolted a bit at the prospect of having to speak. Senses sharpened by the sudden spike of anxiety, she’s once again perplexed by the odd dynamic between her two masters...

Guillermo grits his teeth and sighs. “I’m Guillermo and… I like to cook.”

 _A vampire who likes to cook?_ Mirabelle watches Nandor smile shyly at Guillermo. And then he’s grabbing a notebook and pencil from the counter behind him and looking expectantly at the first thrall. Mirabelle’s heart hammers as they begin going around the table, each human stuttering awkwardly over their own seldom-used name and grasping for a meager fact about themselves. Their words sail over Mirabelle’s head as she frantically searches her mind for the right thing to say. 

And then suddenly everyone is looking at her and it must be her turn. She swallows the dry, sludgy lump in her throat and croaks, “M-my name is… Mirabelle.” 

Nandor nods, scribbling into his notebook. “That’s a pretty name. And one thing about you?”

“I… I…” she falters, gasping for air as panic floods her veins like a toxin. _One thing about myself?_ _I’m a thrall… I’m a thing… I’m a toy for Simon’s crew… I’m…_

Nandor’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts, warm and gentle. “How about your favorite color?”

Mirabelle blinks, nodding her head slowly and echoing his words, “M-my favorite color…” Her eyes dance over Nandor’s kind expression, and then down to the long column of his neck, his broad shoulders and the bubbly, bright words on his shirt. “P-purple. My favorite color is purple.”

Nandor smiles brightly. “Good girl, Mirabelle.”

* * *

Mirabelle has more opportunities to witness her new masters’ perplexing behavior. The strangest example happens about a week after her arrival.

She’s assigned the task of doing the vampires’ laundry. A grueling chore given the amount of blood stains to contend with, but preferable to body disposal, at least. One evening, she makes her way to Guillermo and Nandor’s room after cautiously visiting Nadja and Laszlo’s crypt. She has learned quickly to be wary around the married couple, ever vigilant for dangerous projectiles, whether they be taxidermy pieces launched by a vengeful Nadja or bodily fluids shooting through the air as a result of their frantic make-up sex. Tonight she only has to deal with a ten minute lecture from Nadja on the proper care of her favorite fur stole. 

When she knocks on the door to Guillermo and Nandor’s crypt, Master Nandor’s deep, friendly voice answers, “Come in!”

Mirabelle enters silently, like a good little thrall, but immediately freezes in the doorway. Master Guillermo is seated in an elegant antique armchair pressed up to the wall to her left. He’s dressed in a cashmere sweater with a cowl neck, a bright tartan scarf hanging around his shoulders and dark gray pants, perfectly pressed and tailored as always. From behind his thick-framed glasses, his dark eyes glitter in the candlelight, watching her inscrutably. It’s not Guillermo’s appearance that stops Mirabelle in her tracks, though. It’s the sight of her _other_ master, Nandor, kneeling at Guillermo’s feet with his head pressed into the side of Guillermo’s thigh as if… as if he were nothing but a human familiar. 

“Thrall,” Guillermo greets coldly with a slight bow of his head. Nandor has already memorized all of their names. “The laundry’s on the bed. Strip the sheets while you’re at it.” Before she moves to follow the order she catches sight of Nandor turning his face to gaze up at Guillermo with a strange expression, part pleading and part chastening. Guillermo sighs under his breath and adds, “ _Please._ ”

Mirabelle scurries to the little twin bed situated against the opposite wall. She picks up the neatly folded stack of Guillermo’s clothing and plucks Nandor’s haphazardly discarded items from amidst the wrinkled sheets. The bed is obviously slept-in. She supposes it isn’t so odd for a vampire couple to have a bed for… _non-sleeping_ purposes, but this one is so tiny. It’s no bigger than the thralls’ beds downstairs. 

She rolls everything up into a bundle, barely managing to wrap her arms around it, and begins making her way past the two gleaming, black coffins on her way out.

Nandor’s soft voice stops her. “Mirabelle.”

She turns, slowly approaching with her gaze lowered respectfully. It feels odd to be standing _above_ her master. She wonders if she should kneel, too.

“When you are finished with the laundry, there’s banana bread in the kitchen.”

With that simple, matter-of-fact statement the confusion, the anxiety, the cautious hope and debilitating fear — all of it building for the last week, comes crashing down on her. Mirabelle’s breath catches. She nods rapidly, tears stinging her eyes. Her voice is thick with emotion as she replies, “Th-thank you, m-master Nandor.”

Nandor’s face clouds in confusion. “ _Hey, there!_ What is it? What is the matter, Miri?”

Mirabelle loses it at his words; the diminutive pet name lancing straight through her heart. She drops the laundry and collapses down on top of it as a sob wracks her tiny frame. Crawling forward, she falls against Nandor, bunching his sweatshirt in her fists and hiding her face in his chest as she cries. 

“I’ve n-never had ba-banana bread!” She wails pitifully.

This is unforgivably forward; every ingrained instinct screams at her that she will be punished for this. But Nandor simply pats her shoulder with the slightest, most careful brush of his palm. “Oh, well… you know I never had banana bread either until I came to live with Master Guillermo. I think you will be liking it very much. It’s Guillermo’s own recipe from when he was a human librarian!”

The words roll over Mirabelle, barely registering. They rumble through Nandor’s chest and into her cheek, deep and comforting.

“M-master Nandor. Y-you’re so good to us!” Her cheeks burn as the words pour out of her, overflowing after days of uncertain transition and stress. “I w-want to always be your thrall. I-I’ll be so good for you, master. Please, please.” She’s not certain why she’s begging. Perhaps she just needs him to understand.

Nandor’s arms barely touch her as he circles them around her in a loose, achingly cautious hug. She’s seen the evidence of his powerful strength around the house: countless broken mugs and lamps, holes in the plaster walls and the damaged railing on the stairs. But she’s not afraid. He won’t hurt her. 

Master Guillermo’s presence above them is a tangible force. She wonders what he makes of her inappropriate behavior. Perhaps she will be punished after all. Perhaps Master Guillermo will creep down to the thralls’ bedchamber after Nandor is asleep and mortify her flesh for the heinous liberty she’s taking with her vampire superior. 

In brazen fear she peeks up at him from the safety of Master Nandor’s arms and her worries are instantly dispelled. Guillermo runs his fingers through the short stubble on Nandor’s head, a look of aching, earnest love on his face. She knows, without knowing how or why, that Nandor would be crushed if Guillermo did anything to her or the other thralls. And Guillermo would never, ever hurt Nandor.

It’s not until much later that Nandor’s words come back to her and their implication clicks. _I never had banana bread, either, until I came to live with Master Guillermo…_

She pictures Nandor as she saw him this evening: a devoted, kneeling supplicant at Master Guillermo’s feet. Only now she sees him as he must once have been: flushed with life and terribly, unthinkably mortal. 

* * *

Mirabelle’s bed is too soft. She lays in it for hours, feeling like she’ll sink straight through to the floor. The sheets are clean and crisp, the comforter is weighted— a warm, soothing embrace at the end of a long evening’s work. But still, she can’t stand it.

Finally, she creeps out of bed, tugging the heavy blanket along with her, and finds a corner of floor space where she can curl up and rest. The solid floor beneath her weary bones is familiar. Her eyelids finally close and within seconds a deep, delicious slumber begins taking hold. As she’s drifting to sleep, though, guilt flashes through her thoughts. She should show better gratitude for her bed. Master Nandor is so good…

Minutes or hours later she is awoken by the feeling of large, cold arms lifting her off the floor. A deep, accented voice reaches her in her dreams. _You shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor, Mirabelle! You will catch a cold…_

Nandor brings her back to her bed, tucking her in with the utmost gentle care. Half-asleep, she mumbles under her breath, a distraught whine creeping into her voice, “’M sorry, master. Thank you…”

Nandor shushes her, tucking the blankets up around her chin. “It’s okay, Mirabelle. You’re a good girl. Go to sleep now…”

She obeys her master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! Things Spiff came up with: Mirabelle's name. The thrall POV. Nandor doing the introductions/ice breaker. Nandor having a camp counselor vibe. TBH, there is probably more that I'm forgetting. Basically, thank you Spiff.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the great and powerful Meli for beta reading this chapter for me! And as always thanks to everyone who reads every update and chats with me in between! It really means so much to me that there are readers who actually look forward this fic being updated lol.
> 
> Sorry I am so crap at replying to comments in a timely manner. But I do read every one of them and they water me. Love yooou.

Nandor’s little human is smitten. Guillermo observes from his seat on the other side of the crypt as Mirabelle fawns over his lover. She tenderly runs the brush through his shaggy, jaw-length hair, a soft smile on her lips as she listens to her master summarize the plot of a show he’s been watching on Interflix or something...

“It is _very_ spooky, Miri. I do not want you or the thralls watching it because you will be getting nightmares about scary ghosts with beaks sneaking up on you in the night time… But did I tell you about the lady in the lake!?”

Nandor’s enthusiasm is infectious. A smile tugs at Guillermo’s lips as he takes in the scene. The human, so utterly at ease with her gentle master and Nandor, talkative and free, flashing his fangs in a jovial grin and loosely sketching the air with his hands as he speaks. It was Colin who first suggested making Nandor responsible for the thralls. He’d tossed out the suggestion with a casual shrug, but Guillermo knows better. Colin had seen what Guillermo could not: that in order to heal, Nandor needs more than just someone taking care of _him_ ; he needs to take care of _someone else_ , too. 

Mirabelle laughs at something Nandor says. Her eyes quickly dart in Guillermo’s direction and she covers her smile with her hand, still afraid of Guillermo the Heartless. The thralls have relaxed since Nandor’s orientation a week ago, but they haven’t warmed to Guillermo like they have to Nandor. Guillermo feels an odd mix of pride and jealousy at this fact. Since when has he wanted human thralls to like him? Since he fell in love with one, he supposes. 

Miri plucks a scrunchie from Nandor’s nightstand, pulling the longest pieces of his hair into a short, choppy ponytail on top of his head. It looks ridiculous but Guillermo knows how pleased Nandor is to have his hair back. A few days after the fight at the Sassy Cat, a wicker basket appeared on their front step with a card signed by Lillith and the rest of the Brooklyn coven. The basket was jam packed with self-care products from the witches’ apothecary. High-end lotions, incense, scrubs and masks. And most importantly: a special shampoo brewed by Lillith herself using locks of Nandor’s hair found at the scene of Simon’s crimes. Every night for the last week Guillermo has bathed Nandor, rubbing the shampoo into his short locks and watching them magically lengthen. It feels good to watch them grow, to watch Nandor grow. Guillermo can give him back this one thing that was taken from him.

When Mirabelle finishes with his hair, Nandor stands and holds his arms up over his head, allowing her to remove his t-shirt. The human’s cheeks glow as she tugs at the cotton material, revealing the soft, pale expanse of Nandor’s belly beneath a fine layer of dark hair. Guillermo can’t blame her. His lover is gorgeous. For a second he fantasizes about taking the human’s place. Undressing, serving, submitting to Nandor as Nandor once did to _him_ . _Guillermo the Familiar_. He almost laughs out loud at the thought. 

It’s strange but sweet to see Nandor with a familiar of his own. He asked Mirabelle only a few days ago if she would like to serve him as more than a thrall. The girl had almost fainted, she was so overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement. 

“Cover your eyes, Miri,” Nandor instructs, waiting until the human’s hand is firmly clasped over her eyes before shucking off his skinny jeans and underwear. He pulls on a loose-fitting pair of cotton pajama bottoms, cinching the drawstring closed before saying, “Okay, you can look!”

For one second Guillermo thinks to himself: _How the fuck have I ended up adjoined— committed, devoted— to the world’s softest vampire?_ But then Nandor looks over at him, molten caramel eyes glowing in the candlelight, lips curving in an affectionate smile, and it doesn’t matter that Guillermo has a houseful of thralls who require fifteen minute breaks every four hours and home-cooked meals that Guillermo has to make because Nandor says so. It doesn’t matter that Guillermo’s status as one of the most feared vampires in New York is taking a hit as more and more vampires find out about his little crusade for love. It doesn’t even matter that he had to blow up a fragile diplomatic alliance that took decades to accomplish. Because Nandor is worth it. He’s worth every sacrifice and every annoyance and every doubt that flits through Guillermo’s once stoic, self-assured mind. Guillermo would do it all again for that smile and those eyes. 

And he’d trade his very soul to be able to go back to that first night, smack himself across the face and scream and rage that the human at his feet is special and good and innocent and deserving of so much more than being a well-fed sex slave. 

Miri leads Nandor to his coffin and the first hint of unease appears on the vampire’s face. 

“Time for bed, master,” she sing-songs, holding out her hand to assist Nandor up the stepstool and into the extra-large casket.

Nandor’s whole demeanor shuts down as he climbs into the coffin. Guillermo sighs, drumming his fingers on the forgotten volume in his lap. The coffin has been a problem...

“Night night, Miri,” Nandor murmurs, slowly reclining with obvious discomfort. “Tell Noah and Mark they did a good job with the disposing of the bodies today. Hardly any blood stains left in the cell. They can be having an extra break tomorrow!”

“I will, master. Goodnight,” she answers, reaching up for the coffin lid. 

Nandor’s hand shoots out, gripping Mirabelle’s forearm and halting her process. Guillermo’s breath catches in his throat, but Nandor remembers his strength, letting his fingers encircle her arm lightly. Thank fucking hell. Guillermo isn’t prepared to deal with the meltdown that would surely accompany Nandor accidentally breaking his familiar’s arm. 

“Not yet, Miri. Master Guillermo will tuck me in. Thank you, though! You’re a good girl,” he says, dropping his hand back down to his chest. Guillermo can’t see the human’s face, but he can taste the bloom of tangy-sweet happiness that fills the air at Nandor’s praise.

Mirabelle bows her head in a nod, gliding away towards the door. She pauses with her hand over the knob, turning and addressing Guillermo with her eyes fixed on the floor, “Goodnight, Master Guillermo. D-do you need anything from me?”

Though the girl is technically _Nandor’s_ familiar, the two of them are so much a package deal at this point that she seems to consider herself as belonging to Guillermo as well. Even if she clearly has a favorite... 

“No, Mirabelle. Goodnight.” Guillermo is already standing and walking over to Nandor’s coffin. 

When the door clicks closed Nandor sighs, a bit of false cheer fading from his eyes. He hugs his arms and his eyes dart to the walls of the coffin enclosing him. 

Guillermo reaches out and tucks a soft, silver streak of hair behind his ear. Attempting to distract Nandor from his clear anxiety, he comments, “She’s a good familiar.”

Nandor meets his gaze and nods absently, worry still apparent in his scrunched brows and tense mouth. He agrees with a quiet, “Yes, she is…”

“Just like you were, baby,” Guillermo adds, cupping Nandor’s bearded cheek. 

The vampire nuzzles his face into Guillermo’s hand, a shuddery sigh passing through his lips. “Not all of the time, master.” Guillermo’s stomach sinks. He opens his mouth to respond but Nandor is already going on, “I was a b-bad boy and you put me i-in your coffin. An-n-nd sometimes in the middle of the day I am waking up and I am scared and being confused and thinking I’m a bad boy again. _I don’t like my coffin_ , Guillermo.”

It feels like swallowing bleach. Guillermo has to stop himself from gagging violently on the intensity of Nandor’s anxiety. He forces a reassuring smile, taking Nandor’s face between his soft, pudgy hands and staring into his eyes as he answers, “I know you don’t like it, baby. But it’s not safe to keep sleeping out in the open like you’ve been doing, okay? Will you try to stay in your coffin tonight?”

Guillermo can feel Nandor melt in his hands like soft clay. He may be an immortal vampire with lethal strength— He may finally have found a semblance of confidence through his work with the thralls— But somewhere not so far beneath the surface, Nandor still desperately wants to be Guillermo’s good boy. The young vampire’s throat bobs as he swallows his nerves, nodding as tears rim his eyes. “I will try.”

“ _Good boy_ , Nandor,” Guillermo whispers. He leans down and presses a kiss to Nandor’s mouth, swiping his cool tongue over Nandor’s plump lower lip before drawing back. “And baby?” He reaches up to grab the rim of the coffin lid, pausing with it half-way lowered. “You were never a bad boy. It was me. I was bad.”

Nandor doesn’t reply. He watches him with big, watery eyes as the coffin closes, sealing him in darkness. Guillermo knocks twice on the lid and Nandor answers with two muffled thumps. _Love you._

Guillermo walks over to his wardrobe, methodically removing each article of clothing and folding it neatly for Mirabelle to pick up later. He changes into his pajamas: silky black shorts and a matching t-shirt that hugs the plush curves of his chest and stomach. As he climbs into his coffin, he catches himself straining his ears, listening for the beat of a heart that’s gone silent. 

* * *

_Master?_

_Master Nandor?_

_Do you want to get back in your coffin before I wake Master Guillermo?_

Nandor awakes slowly, gradually coming back to himself, fighting through layers of fog and confusion. His body still feels foreign, changed. After the first few days his heart finally stopped beating. It was almost a relief after days of fluttering arrhythmia. But waking in a body as silent and inert as the grave is still a shock. Nandor drags in an unnecessary breath, yawning and scrubbing his hand over his sleepy eyes as he looks blearily up at Miri. 

_What was the question, again?_

“Erm… No, that’s okay, Miri,” he answers. He’s touched by her consideration, but he tries for a stern tone as he explains, “It would not be fooling Master Guillermo and you should not be trying to do that anyways! Not even for helping me, do you understand?”

Miri visibly wilts. She’s kneeling beside his little twin bed, hands resting on the wrinkled damask top sheet. At his words her fingers twist into the blankets and her shoulders hitch up. She lowers her gaze, murmuring an apology. 

“Mirabelle?” Guillermo’s muffled voice calls from inside his coffin.

“Go on,” Nandor instructs, sitting up and running his fingers through his tangled hair; his scrunchie must have slipped off while he slept. He catches the look of rejection on Miri’s face and adds, “It is alright, Miri. I am not mad at you.”

She nods without meeting his eye, scurrying over to help Guillermo out of his coffin. Nandor sighs, arranging the blankets around him in a little nest as he watches Miri with Guillermo. She holds Guillermo’s hand as he climbs out of the casket, her eyes downcast and her shoulders tense. She looks respectful but cowed. Nandor wonders if that’s how he looked all of those months, serving his master, loving him but at the same time fearing his disappointment, his judgement. If Nandor is honest with himself he still feels that way sometimes. His belly tightens as Guillermo’s head swivels in his direction, spotting him in his bed instead of the coffin. 

Nandor stands on shaky legs. He shouldn’t feel this way anymore. He’s strong, powerful and immortal. So, why does he still feel like a weak human terrified to disappoint his master and lover?

Miri steps back as Nandor approaches. He looms over Guillermo, bowing his neck to clunk his forehead against Guillermo’s and lightly cupping his elbows in his broad hands. He breathes in Guillermo’s sleepy vampire scent. He smells like damp earth, sharp, tangy blood and fresh, flowery laundry detergent. Guillermo pecks him on the cheek, humming comfortingly. It’s a relief that Guillermo can taste his feelings; It means Nandor doesn’t always have to use his words.

“I had a nightmare,” he croaks, nuzzling his cheek against Guillermo’s and letting his head drop into the crook of his neck. He clings to his lover, his master. 

Guillermo’s arms wrap around him, soothing up and down his back. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Nandor shakes his head, hiding his face in Guillermo’s shoulder and clutching the mounds of flesh at his waist. 

“Alright,” Guillermo answers. His tone changes to something stiffer and more formal as he addresses Miri. “You can come back later, Mirabelle. I’ll call for you.”

Once the familiar leaves, Guillermo coos, “My poor Nandor.” He peppers his face in kisses. “Do you want me to make you feel good, baby? I can make you feel better.” His hands stray from Nandor’s back, trailing downward to cup his buttocks, squeezing gently. “ _Please_ ,” he whispers. Guillermo’s voice is barely there, but the word strikes a chord in Nandor’s chest.

They haven’t… 

...Not since Nandor was turned. They’ve kissed. And held each other. But always keeping something back. Nandor is half-afraid he’ll break Guillermo with his new vampiric strength and half-afraid that he himself will break, shattering into a million pieces. So much has happened. So much has changed. But he still adores Guillermo. Still wants him so bad it hurts.

Nandor nods against Guillermo’s neck, parting his lips and letting his fangs drag against his skin as he answers, “Yes.”

Guillermo’s body goes soft against his, something inside of him loosening and letting go. He breathes a soft cry into Nandor’s ear and tightens his arms around him. Nandor lets his fingers dig into Guillermo’s chubby sides, squeezing and pressing harder against him so that he can feel Guillermo’s ample, round stomach against his own. He kisses the cool, still hollow of Guillermo’s throat, licking and nipping his way up to his strong jaw, edged in stubble. 

“Tell me you love me,” he says, kissing over Guillermo’s cheeks and mouth. Nandor surprises himself with his gruff, commanding tone.

Guillermo’s hands drift upward, burying themselves in Nandor’s knotted hair as he answers, “I love you, Nandor. _I always have_ …” He fists his fingers, pulling Nandor’s mouth against his and catching his lips in a kiss that’s equal parts tenderness, longing, pain and guilt. “...Even before I knew you, I loved you. Even before I knew myself, baby.”

They stumble to Nandor’s little bed, kissing and pawing at each other along the way. Nandor snags the thin fabric of Guillermo’s shirt with his sharp nails, tearing it to shreds. The material falls away, exposing Guillermo’s luminescent skin to Nandor’s seeking, plundering hands. They fall onto the rumpled sheets, rolling and coming to rest with Nandor on his back, his hair fanned around his face, catching the light with streaks of silver and gold. Guillermo slips his hands under the hem of Nandor’s loose night shirt, pushing it up so he can run his fingers through the soft hair blanketing Nandor’s chest and belly. 

“My beautiful Nandor,” he whispers, pressing chaste kisses to his lips. “What do you want?”

Guillermo traces patterns through the thick hair on Nandor’s chest, swooping his plump fingertips over Nandor’s nipples, eliciting a sharp hitch in the new vampire’s breath. _What does he want?_ Nandor meets Guillermo’s eyes, big and open, sucking in the soft amber glow of the candles. Guillermo looks almost human with his lips stained in the blood of their kiss and his chest heaving with every breath. _What does he want?_ What he’s always wanted: to feel safe, to feel loved. He thinks back to the little librarian man in the darkness. Guillermo wanted those things too, once. Does he still?

He tries to remind himself that this isn’t a special treat. He’s not Nandor the Familiar anymore. Nor Nandor the Thrall… Nandor the Slut… Nandor the Pathetic. He’s something new. Something more. Nandor the… _what?_

But it’s so hard. _So hard_ not to fall backwards into those memories of _pretending_. Guillermo’s voice sounded just as sincere then as it does now. What if… what if they’re still pretending? Nandor is suddenly gripped with an intense, undeniable need to know.

“This is r-real, isn’t it, Master?” His voice breaks on the words. Guillermo’s hands immediately go still, resting limp and heavy on his chest. Any moment they’ll dig into Nandor’s soft flesh, pinning him down to the mattress while Guillermo hisses at him to be grateful for what his master gives him. To thank him for pretending to love someone as pathetic as he is. _No, no, no, it’s a lie_. Guillermo loves Nandor; he knows it…

“Baby?” Guillermo slides off of him, stretching at his side and gently wrapping an arm around his middle. “Baby what’s the matter? _Of course_ this is real…”

Nandor shuts his eyes, taking a shaking breath and focusing on the sensation of Guillermo’s deceptively soft body pressed against his. “It’s not like before? Wh-when you pretended to be loving me, is it?” He hates how pathetic he sounds. What would the thralls think if they could see him now? What does Guillermo think?

Nandor’s gut churns as he awaits an answer, keeping his eyes firmly shut. When it finally comes, Guillermo’s voice is an echo of itself. “I _never_ pretended, baby.”

Nandor lets his eyes drift open; he slowly turns his head on the pillow to face Guillermo. Guillermo’s dark chestnut curls spill across his forehead. He’s resting his head on the pillow beside Nandor and looking at him with those big, soulful eyes that once seemed so cold and distant. Nandor traces the prominent line of Guillermo’s jaw with his fingertips. A hesitant, shaky smile forms on his lips.

“When were you knowing that you loved me?” he asks, turning fully onto his side and curling up so that his knobbly knees punch into Guillermo’s ample stomach. Guillermo grunts and they squirm around, rearranging themselves until their legs are slotted together and their faces are only inches apart. Guillermo’s eyes flit about, not meeting Nandor’s. “Please. Tell me, Guillermo.”

His master— his former master— takes a breath, voice gravelly with emotion. “It was… probably… Remember when I used to get angry about the crypt? And how messy it was with your shit all over the place?”

Nandor’s eyes dance and he nods.

“Well…” Guillermo runs his hand through Nandor’s hair, tucking a lock behind his ear. “There was one night when I looked around at your dirty socks on the bed and your scrunchies all over the place… the books and paper and colored pencils scattered all over the floor and I didn’t feel annoyed anymore. I felt… happy that you were here and that you had left some kind of mark on… on our space. And… and that’s when I started to know, I think.”

Guillermo is still toying with Nandor’s hair, twisting it between his fingers and not quite meeting Nandor’s eyes. Nandor tries to recall the last time Guillermo ever scolded him about his messy tendencies. “That was… a long time ago. Wasn’t it?”

Guillermo nods, a tear spilling over and trickling sideways across his nose. “Yes,” he confirms and there is guilt in his voice. Guillermo has known about his love for Nandor for a very long time and yet he still treated him as a human sex slave. Still whored him out to other vampires. Still punished him and manipulated him. “ _Please_ , tell me what you want, Nandor,” Guillermo breathes, echoing his earlier question with more desperation. “Please, please, please…”

Nandor leans in and kisses Guillermo, bruising, scraping, savaging his delicate pouty lips. And Guillermo lets him. He melts against him, sighing out a breathy squeak and clinging to the fabric of Nandor’s t-shirt with his little claws. Nandor doesn’t feel like he’s pretending now. Nandor feels _power_ in the way Guillermo submits to the rough kiss. He feels it in the strength of his arms wrapped tightly around his former master. And he feels it in the urgent, straining erection that rubs against his. Guillermo belongs to him. Nandor can do whatever he wants with him and Guillermo will let him. A part of him, small but fierce and loud, wants to use that power to make Guillermo feel as he once did.

“I love you so much, _corazon_ ,” Guillermo sobs, breaking away from the kiss with tears streaming down his face. “I didn’t know that I could. I thought… I thought that that part of me died, too…”

_Not tonight_ , Nandor resolves, dragging his fingers through Guillermo’s luscious curls. Soon, but not tonight.

“I want to feel you from inside, cor… corizone,” Nandor finally gives him an answer to his question. 

“Fuck. Yes, baby,” Guillermo agrees with a frantic nod.

His little fingers flutter down Nandor’s soft belly, slipping under the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He lets his palm rest delicately over Nandor’s twitching erection, fingertips gently brushing against his balls. Nandor sucks in a breath and Guillermo’s lips curve in a tender, teary smile. 

Guillermo does all the work. He strips them both, straddling Nandor as he opens himself up with lubed fingers. He hisses and moans as his hole stretches in preparation for Nandor’s girth. Nandor lies back, stroking his hands up and down the thick planes of Guillermo’s thighs, watching his former master’s face crumble and break. _Beautiful._ Guillermo is so beautiful it hurts. Nandor sets aside the shadows of the past that he’ll need to reckon with someday soon. Instead, delighting in the gasping little moans that fall from his lover’s lips as Guillermo humps the empty air above him, riding his own fingers, his erection aching to be touched. 

“Master...” Nandor breathes, letting his hands wander closer to the apex of Guillermo’s thighs. 

Guillermo interjects, thrusting into himself harshly as he corrects Nandor. “ _Guillermo_! Please, please, baby… call me Guillermo… or...ah! Or you could call me Memo…”

“Memo?” He draws out the unfamiliar syllables. 

Guillermo finally pulls out his fingers. He scoots up and grasps Nandor’s engorged length, lining him up with his entrance and taking all of him inside in one swift motion. They both cry out at the sudden, visceral, throbbing connection between them. 

“Memo,” Guillermo repeats, rocking his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. “It’s short for Guillermo. It’s what… what people called me when I was still…” He pauses, panting and mewling, his face scrunched up in an adorable amalgam of agony and pleasure. Nandor ruts his hips upward eliciting a sharp, high-pitched cry. “...alive,” he finally finishes. 

They don’t talk much after that. Nandor loses himself in the pulsing clench of Guillermo’s walls around him. He’s laid back on the messy bed, hands loosely grabbing Guillermo’s hips as his lover gyrates above him, bouncing on his dick so that his supple belly and breasts jiggle with every downward thrust. Nandor can’t take his eyes from Guillermo’s perfect curves.

“You are so beautiful… _Memo_ ,” he cries and his words are an echo of all the times Nandor worshiped at the altar of Guillermo’s beauty while he was still human. “My gorgeous _boyfriend_.” His lips split into an enormous grin and he finally reaches up to grasp Guillermo’s cock in his long, elegant fingers. “I want to make you come.”

The room falls away. Lights and sounds bleed into a glowing, pulsing whirl of sensation. Ever since his heart stopped, Nandor has felt like a stranger in his own body. But now, like this, he finally feels at home. Guillermo doesn’t feel cold anymore. He feels just right. They writhe, push and pull against one another until Nandor is shaking with the knife-edge tension of his impending climax. Guillermo’s cock twitches one final time in his hand before spilling his seed over Nandor’s fist. It drips and pools onto Nandor’s belly and chest, coating him. Guillermo’s eyes are shut, his little hands grab at Nandor’s thighs as he pumps up and down, urging Nandor into his own quivering, gasping orgasm. 

They cling to one another for a long time, trading desperate, needy kisses until, finally, the busy sounds of the household outside the crypt door draw them back down to earth.

* * *

Guillermo watches Nandor’s hair magically lengthening as it slips through his soapy fingers. He kneels behind the tub, a folded towel placed under his knees, lathering Nandor’s tresses with a sense of tender reverence. His body still aches pleasantly from their love-making.

“It’s getting nice and long, baby,” he remarks, massaging the tips of his fingers into Nandor’s scalp as the witches instructed. “It’ll be down to your shoulders in no time.”

Nandor gives a pleased hum, letting the weight of his skull sink into Guillermo’s hands as he lists bonelessly in the steaming hot bath. The air is heavy with humidity and his words sound almost muffled. “We should send them a present, master. To thank them.”

Guillermo suppresses a sigh. Nandor still constantly reverts to calling him “master.” He knows that the word is a comfort to Nandor, a touchstone, something to steady himself. But after Nandor’s break down earlier, and his confession about the coffin… It slices at Guillermo’s heart to hear it.

A present for the witches… Guillermo nods in agreement, eyes focused on his work. He can never thank Lillith enough. Nor Arjan. Nor Pamela. The links he’s formed over the years with the wider paranormal community have finally paid off. And now that he has control of Manhattan and all of Brooklyn, a new day will be dawning for the state of vampire diplomacy in New York City. Vampires may be snickering behind their hands at the great Guillermo the Heartless falling for his human familiar, but once they see the power and potential of his kingdom they won’t be laughing. All thanks to a little human slave.

To think that Guillermo had so recently considered his love for Nandor a liability...

“What do you have in mind, mi amor?” he asks, finally plunging his hands into the scalding water to rinse off the shampoo. He moves to the side of the tub, leaning his chin on the edge and watching Nandor toy with the foamy bubbles on the surface of the water. 

“Noah,” Nandor answers, his tone carefully nonchalant. He doesn’t look up from the bubble mountain he’s constructing. 

Guillermo nearly chokes. “Pardon me?” In one week, Nandor’s affection and protectiveness over the thralls has blossomed into a consuming devotion. He spends most nights, after his bath and feeding, “supervising” their work. So far, supervising entails a lot of “team-building” exercises courtesy of Colin Robinson including, most recently, making friendship bracelets. That he would offer up one of his darling humans as a gift is unthinkable.

Nandor sighs, finally looking up to meet Guillermo’s eyes. “Noah has been telling me… When the thralls were with the witches one of them _knew_ him. One of the witches, I mean. Her name is Judith and she is his great aunt. He is wishing to see her again. And I thought…” He stops, his throat bobbing and his eyes going glassy. “I thought that if the thralls are remembering where they came from, we should let them go back. If they want… We can find new ones. Ones who want to be here…”

Guillermo puffs out his cheeks, letting out a contemplative sigh. He drums his fingers on the porcelain tub and regards Nandor with a solemn expression. “I’ll consider it,” he finally says, his voice stern and business-like. It’s the voice he uses to address subordinates.

Nandor is quiet for a minute. The only sound in the room is the gentle splashing of water as he manipulates the bubbles. “But _I_ am being in charge of the thralls,” he says in a voice that is soft but firm. 

Guillermo feels as though he’s balanced on a fulcrum. The weight of his own power bears down on his shoulders. If he steps in one direction he’ll fall back into his past life as Guillermo the Heartless, dragging Nandor with him. If he steps in the other direction he will be falling through empty air into the unknown. But Nandor will be there at his side, not beneath his boots, not groveling on the ground. 

“You’re right,” he answers, finally, stepping into uncertainty. “It’s your decision, Nandor.”

Nandor doesn’t thank him or respond in any way other than to nod once. Guillermo is left to his thoughts, watching Nandor’s serious face fixed on his bubble creation. A question takes hold in Guillermo’s brain, insistent and terrifying. 

“Nandor…” His voice breaks and he coughs to cover his nervousness. “Do… _you_ want to go back? To where you came from? Your family?”

A sound— small, weak, choked— comes from the back of Nandor’s throat. He sinks down to his chin in the water, furiously shaking his head but unable to form words.

“I’m sorry, baby. You’re alright… you’re okay,” Guillermo soothes, patting his hands over Nandor’s slick, soapy hair. He forces out his next words, “But, I just want you to know… You can go back… If you want to. You don’t have to stay here anymore if that’s not what you want, Nandor.”

A shuddery gasp. “I am not remembering. Still. I thought… I thought maybe I would remember now because I am a vampire but I am a stupid vampire and I cannot even remember where I c-come from or who is being my family and wh-where they live or or anything.” Nandor grabs the rubber duck floating in the bathwater and launches it across the room. “I am like a little lost, stupid duck floating in the middle of the ocean. I don’t h-have a f-family…”

Nandor breaks down, half-climbing out of the tub and drenching Guillermo as he clings to him, sobbing. Guillermo feels like crying, too. He runs his hands down the broad plain of Nandor’s back, hushing him and pressing kisses into his wet hair. Once Nandor’s cries have trickled into the occasional hiccuping gasp, Guillermo speaks, “It might take some time, baby. But you’ll remember. And until then… you _do_ have a family.”  
  


* * *

Noah, Mark and Sabrina all leave when given the chance. Nandor spends that evening alone in the crypt, morose and contemplative. He’s happy to give his thralls something he never had, some measure of freedom, escape. Even now he doesn’t feel truly free. He’s weighed down by memories of the past and the knowledge that Simon is still out there somewhere. 

A soft knock on the door interrupts his thoughts and Miri comes in, gliding over the floorboards in her quiet, graceful way. She folds onto her knees at Nandor’s feet, resting her head against his knee and clinging onto his calf. Nandor pats her head gratefully. She is a good girl.

“You still have me, master,” she says in a timid attempt at comfort. 

Before Nandor can answer, his name is being called from the front of the house. It’s Laszlo’s voice. And he sounds strange, agitated. Nandor still hasn’t grown used to thinking of the other household vampires as his equals or, as Guillermo wishes, his family. But he tries to suppress the frisson of fear that threatens to take hold of him and rises to answer the call, Miri trailing behind him.

“No, no, I’m certain of it. What mine own ears hath heard, mine own ears hath heard!”

Guillermo’s answer is muted and strained. Nandor pauses outside the door to the fancy room to listen. “I’m just asking you to wait until we can be certain. There’s no use upsetting him—”

“Whatever is being the matter?” Nandor appears in the doorway to find Laszlo standing by the fireplace, one arm draped dramatically over the mantle. Nadja, Colin and Guillermo are seated on mis-matched antique settees.

Guillermo holds up a hand to Laszlo in warning, turning to Nandor. “Baby, I don’t think—”

“Oh, sod this!” Laszlo interjects, striding toward Nandor; eyes blazing with intensity. “Simon’s been spotted in the area. Lurking about in the sewers, apparently.”

Nandor opens his mouth to reply but no words come out. He swivels his head, seeking his master as he always does in times of crisis. Guillermo is already standing and coming forward. A hand brushes the back of Nandor’s arm and he turns just in time to catch Miri, collapsed in a dead faint. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Meli for beta reading this chapter for me! You are simply the best!  
> And thanks to safetyhazard for the use of the term "underpanties" lolll.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I've been trying to give you guys some more smut since you stuck with me through thousands of words of drama and angst. 
> 
> Comments are always adored and appreciated! Lovvvvve!

The sun is high in the sky. Nandor can’t explain how he knows this. It’s a feeling. Like a menacing presence suspended overhead, beaming down destruction on the roof of the house; a buzzing unpleasantness at the back of his mind. Lethargy tugs at his limbs, but now that he’s awake he can’t seem to shut his eyes again. Guillermo told him that this interrupted sleep pattern is typical of new vampires and he will grow out of it eventually. He also pleaded with Nandor not to leave the crypt during the day.

Nandor slowly pokes his head out into the hallway, baring his fangs in a nervous tick as he peeks to make sure that the front door is safely closed. The only light that greets him is the flicker of candles in the wall sconces. He breathes a little sigh of relief and looks over his shoulder at Guillermo’s coffin with a guilty pang. The door shuts almost silently behind him.

Nandor trails his fingertips along the wainscoting as he ambles down the hall. His skin prickles with new vampiric sensitivity. He can feel the grain of the wood, the thin, eroded varnish, individual specks of dust. He smiles softly to himself as he touches without harming, without damaging. The evidence of his early, rough adjustment to his special vampire power has mostly been cleaned up and repaired by the thralls. But the missing spindle on the banister still looms as a glaring accusation in Nandor’s mind. 

He finds himself walking on autopilot, creeping down the basement stairs to check on Nan and Justin, tucked away in the thralls’ bedroom. Next, he goes back up the stairs, crossing the foyer and pausing outside the little room under the stairs. It’s not much… and Nandor has designs on clearing up one of the spare rooms upstairs, but for now this is the private bedroom that Miri gets, befitting her status in the household as Nandor’s familiar. 

“Knock, knock, _knocking_!” he calls softly, tapping on the wall next to the curtain before parting it with a finger and looking inside. “Are you awake, Miri?”

She should be sleeping. The humans spend the first few hours after dawn finishing their chores before resting at midday and rising again just before dusk. But by now Nandor has learned that he and his familiar have much in common, including restlessness.

“I am, master.” Her voice comes from under the cot. Nandor slips through the curtain, kneeling beside the bed and lowering down onto his side so he can see her. Miri is curled up under a thick quilt that she’s wrapped around her face like a shawl. Wide, dark amber eyes stare out at him, somehow sparkling despite the dimness under the bed. Her full lips are pressed into a thin, diffident line that’s almost-but-not-quite a smile. Curly, shoulder-length hair is hidden under the blanket except for a stray hunk that sticks out wildly above her forehead. There’s no other word for it: Miri is adorable.

“Comfy?” Nandor asks with a fangy smile. He’s given up on trying to get Miri to sleep in her bed. No matter how many nice, soft blankets and pillows he buys, the human simply prefers the floor. The image of his massive, cold, dark coffin rises to the forefront of his mind, but he shoves it away. 

Miri nods as a jaw-cracking yawn erupts from her mouth. Her eyelids droop slightly. She is tired. 

“You should be going to sleeping, Miri. Why are you still up?”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. Her slender arm emerges from the blanket cocoon, reaching toward Nandor. He takes her impossibly delicate hand in his, her warm brown skin contrasting beautifully with Nandor’s cold, muted pallor. His fingers curl carefully around her palm, squeezing the slightest bit.

“I’m scared, master. What if Simon comes?”

“I don’t— Why would— ?” Nandor’s words choke off into empty silence. He swallows the cloying, ropy lump that forms in his throat. Miri has been worrying about the very thing waking Nandor from his slumber… “H-he will not be coming here, Miri. Do not worry.”

“But he could! And he hates Master Guillermo! He was always talking about him. I can’t go back with him, master! I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I—”

Tears pour down Miri’s face and Nandor feels his own eyes sting with emotion. Ever since Laszlo’s revelation, he’s been on edge, jumpy— fear nipping at his heels. Guillermo tries to offer him comfort, but Simon haunts the household like an unwelcome spirit. 

“Shhh. I am scared also, Miri. But… but _Guillermo_ will protect us from Simon. You must trust Guillermo. Remember I am telling you this on your very first night?”

Miri’s brows draw together and she whispers, “But… Why are you afraid, master? You’re— you’re a vampire. You’re so strong. Stronger than Guillermo— than Master Guillermo, even. How come you’re afraid of Simon?”

Nandor’s eyes flick downward and he focuses on their joined hands. Their fingers have twined together without him noticing. Miri gives him a reassuring squeeze and he thinks, _She is so very strong…_

“I was not always being a vampire, Miri,” Nandor explains. His voice sounds small and brittle. “When I was a human, before I met Master Guillermo, I was Simon’s… thing. He called me a familiar, but that was not being a familiar…”

Tears flood his vision and he watches a fuzzy Miri take in this revelation. “Oh…” she mutters, and then her breath hitches in a silent cry. “ _Oh, Master Nandor_ , I’m so sorry.”

Nandor sniffles, dropping Miri’s hand in order to rub his teary eyes. When he looks back at her, he sees his own misery reflected on her face. “Hug?” he asks, stretching out his arms. 

Miri shimmies out from under the bed and burrows into his chest, clinging to his shirt with tight fists and silently crying into his shoulder. She mutters something under her breath and Nandor leans down to hear.

“He… He called me his familiar, too, master.”

Nandor’s arms tighten just a fraction too much and Miri squeaks in protest. He immediately loosens his grip, but his voice hardens with steel.

“I will be protecting you, Miri. Do not worry.”

  
  
  


In the days that follow, Nandor makes more of an effort to mask his own anxiety, putting on a brave face for Miri and the thralls. It’s not easy, especially with all of the changes in the household making him feel shaky and uncertain on top of his underlying fear. He is slowly growing accustomed to Nadja, Laszlo and Colin Robinson treating him as an equal. Although he still finds himself occasionally half-sinking to the floor at Guillermo’s feet before he remembers that he is allowed to use the furniture whenever he wants. Likewise, it is a struggle for him to maintain eye contact with the other vampires after decades of being taught to avert his gaze.

Some nights he wishes he could still hide on his knees with his head in Guillermo’s lap. But Guillermo says that would send the wrong message during business meetings. So, instead, he finds himself comforted by the reassuring presence of his own familiar leaning gently into his legs as he listens to Count Rapula describe an e-mail he received from someone claiming to be Simon the Devious. 

“‘Come to me in the sewers beneath Stankin’ Island. Signed, Simon the Devious. P.S. Bring change of clothes and dry shampoo,’” Rapula over-enunciates each word as he reads it off the screen of his Sidekick. He looks up and locks eyes with Guillermo as he finishes. “It came from Simon’s email address.”

The room is silent for a beat. Nandor sits beside Guillermo, their legs touching. He reaches over and twines his fingers with Guillermo’s. His lover’s hand feels so soft and small inside of his. Nandor’s other hand idly brushes over Miri’s hair. Looking around the room, every vampire’s focus seems to be on Guillermo, who stares past Rapula with a look of wary concentration on his face. 

The tense silence is finally broken by Nadja. “We should ignore it. It is a trap!” she exclaims, cutting her manicured hand through the air for emphasis. “He is called Simon the Devious, after all.”

But Guillermo waves a dismissive hand at her comment. “He gave _himself_ that nickname when he immigrated here. Before that he was just Simon.” Guillermo spits the name out like a curse word. He turns to Nandor, pudgy fingers tightening around his as he asks, “What do you think, Nandor?”

Guillermo’s expression is carefully neutral, but Nandor feels the weight of his words, of their meaning. Nandor is not merely a consort, an amusing punchline. A human thrall turned into a vampire. Nandor is valued and his opinion counts. 

He swallows. Everyone’s attention shifts to him and he feels his body react instinctively: shoulders rounding, spine curling, head bowing. Miri’s hand wraps around his ankle, an offer of support. Guillermo squeezes his hand harder. 

“I…” Nandor’s eyes flit to Count Rapula. The vampire gazes back at him in mild curiosity. Nandor can’t remember if he ever… _if he ever…_ “I-I am thinking that I do not want Simon creepy-crawling around in our sewers, mas— Guillermo!”

“I agree with the baby vampire!” Laszlo exclaims, slapping his knee. “What’s to stop that cretin from slinking up one of the toilet pipes and invading the household?”

Guillermo lifts his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “An invitation? For starters? Nandor, don’t worry, Simon can’t—”

“Well, now, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss Laszlo’s worry, Guillermo,” Colin Robinson interrupts, holding up his pointer finger. “After all, the house is hooked up to _public_ sewage. If Simon can wander the sewers no problem, then it’s possible there is a loophole that we—”

Guillermo turns his back on Colin, addressing his newest recruit, “Rapula, arrange the meeting. Act like you’re still loyal. Report back to me right away.”

Rapula looks half-awed by Guillermo’s authority and half-amused by the odd family bickering playing out before his eyes. He nods once, standing to leave, uncharacteristically taciturn. 

Guillermo stops him before he reaches the doorway. “And Rapula? I am not Simon the Devious. If you betray me, I’ll do more than spread rumors about you. Understand?”

Everyone in the room, vampire and human alike, shivers at Guillermo’s lethal, cold-blooded stare and the deadly threat in his tone. Rapula’s head bobs in a wary nod. “No doubt, boss,” he croaks.

“Will you please be showing Count Rapula to the door, Mirabelle?” Nandor asks. He expects her to obey and she does. But he sees no reason why he can’t be polite about it.

Once the door closes behind Rapula, Guillermo turns to Laszlo. “Do you trust him?”

Laszlo has been working to consolidate power in Manhattan, taking over operations of the nightclub, reaching out to the local vampires and recruiting Simon’s surviving crew. Nandor watches his former master’s profile. His square jaw juts out, the muscle visibly twitching. It has not been easy for Guillermo to delegate tasks, but he’s spent the weeks since the fight at home, tending to Nandor. Nandor’s chest fills with warm affection and Guillermo suddenly shifts his gaze, sending him a soft, private smile and stroking his thumb over the back of Nandor’s hand. 

“Even less than I would a towel with an Italian,” Laszlo answers. Nadja nods knowingly, but Guillermo just stares back at him, unamused. “No!” Laszlo clarifies with a roll of his eyes. “Not at all! He’s a turncoat, a rat, a quisling, a—”

Guillermo cuts him off, “Alright. Nadja, contact the werewolves. Get someone to tail Rapula. Make sure they put on some Axe body spray first, though. You can smell them a mile away…”

* * *

Guillermo watches Nandor turn back the covers on the cramped twin bed with a brick of anxiety in his stomach. He doesn’t want to keep nagging Nandor about the coffin. He tries to tell himself that his worries are unfounded, but his mind keeps going back to that horrible night, waking up to find Nandor gone, the crypt ransacked. He’s arranged to increase their daytime security. Werewolves now prowl the yard during daylight hours. _But still…_

Nandor sits down on the edge of the mattress, crossing one leg over the other with his ankle resting on his knee. His long, restored locks hang in curtains on either side of his face as he tugs at the ribbing of one thick sock. Guillermo walks over, kneeling before Nandor. He lightly places his hands over Nandor’s, halting his progress and taking over the task. Guillermo’s soft fingertips graze the rough sole of Nandor’s foot as he rolls down the sock. Nandor gasps and shivers at the ticklish sensation, causing a smile to tug at Guillermo’s lips.

“No coffin tonight, baby?” he asks, cupping his hands around Nandor’s long, knobbly foot and pressing a kiss to his big toe. Nandor giggles. The light, airy relief that flows off his breath is like a whipped meringue that melts on Guillermo’s tongue.

Nandor shakes his head. “I don’t want to be in a cage anymore,” he whispers, fiddling with his hands in his lap. He uncrosses his legs and Guillermo scoots forward, clasping his hands over Nandor’s knees and looking up at him. The floor is hard and unforgiving. He finds himself wondering what it must have felt like for human Nandor, before Guillermo softened towards him and began allowing him a pillow for comfort...

“Do you…” He stops, clears his throat. “Do you think that’s what I’m trying to do by asking you to sleep in the coffin? Put you back in a cage like Simon?”

A bitter tendril of guilt spikes the air. “Maybe,” Nandor replies softly. He doesn’t meet Guillermo’s eyes. “You think there is only being one way to be a vampire. But I think that I could try to find my own way.”

Several emotions flare within Guillermo, licking his insides like fire. _Guilt._ He recognizes the sentiment behind Nandor’s words. He recalls it from his own days of living as a fresh, baby vampire, pinned under the weight of Simon’s oppressive vision of vampirism. He’d slept in his own version of a cage, hadn’t he? An over-the top, bright red monstrosity that was too narrow for Guillermo’s width and far, far too tacky for his sense of fashion. He still remembers the freedom he felt that first night after leaving Simon’s and sleeping in a coffin of his own choosing. Guillermo wants to believe that he never intended to make Nandor feel this way but…

There’s _panic_ , too. Because, in a way, Guillermo _has_ been keeping Nandor confined. He still remembers the fear he’d felt when asking about Nandor’s family. What happens when his boy _does_ remember where he comes from? Will he want to go back? Will Nandor move on from Guillermo once he’s more comfortable in his vampiric form? Is Guillermo purposely forcing Nandor into a dependent role? Withholding accommodations that could help him adapt more easily?

He drops his head into Nandor’s lap, wrapping his arms around his waist and taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to keep you in a cage, baby.”

Nandor delves his fingers into Guillermo’s messy curls and lets his hands rest on Guillermo’s head, offering comfort and— Guillermo hopes— absolution.

* * *

The next night, when Nandor walks into the crypt following his weekly thrall meeting, he finds the room transformed. His hand goes to his chest and he bites back a gasp, gaping around him. The coffins are gone. In their place is a massive, king-size bed with a tall headboard upholstered in black silk. It’s covered in a lavish, dark violet bedspread and topped with a pile of plush-looking pillows in more shades of purple than Nandor can name. Dozens and dozens of candles line the room, filling the space with a gentle, golden glow. He glances around and finds the ornate, stained-glass windows boarded up with thick plywood. 

But the sight that arrests him most of all isn’t the bed or the lighting or the windows. It’s his... It’s Guillermo. He’s kneeling beside the bed in only a tight pair of black boxer briefs. His knees are cushioned in the fur of a stunningly white, shaggy fur rug. His hands lie open and relaxed on the tops of his generous thighs. He looks up at Nandor, lips parted, eyes blinking. He’s not wearing his glasses. Nandor shuts the door behind him. 

“Do you like it, baby?” Guillermo sounds… unsure. 

Nandor has never seen him like this. He looks so small and fragile. Something inside of Nandor pulses with a heady contradiction of compassion and pleasure. He doesn’t want his master to feel small and weak. He _does_ want his master to feel small and weak. Nandor steps forward, walking up to Guillermo until his sock-clad feet brush against his knees. As he looks down his nose at Guillermo’s vulnerable, upturned face, he feels himself stir with arousal. 

“Wh-what is happening?” he asks. He can’t say if the tremor in his voice is from uncertainty or intrigue. 

Guillermo’s throat bobs, his perfect lips thinning into a nervous line before he answers, “I want to ask you for something, Nandor.”

Nandor toys with the hem of his shirt, curling his toes inward and wobbling on his feet uncertainly. What can Guillermo possibly need from Nandor that he has to go down on his knees and beg?

“Nandor, please.” Guillermo’s face crumples and a tear slips down his cheek. He wraps his arms around Nandor’s legs and cranes his neck back in order to meet his eyes. “Please, punish me, Nandor.”

* * *

Guillermo watches Nandor’s face for his reaction. He doesn’t remember ever feeling so naked and vulnerable. What will he do if Nandor refuses? They can try to build a life together, a partnership, but it will never work if the specter of their past isn’t laid to rest. Nandor’s words last night proved to Guillermo that he still doesn’t fully trust Guillermo’s new attitude towards him. And why should he? It wasn’t so long ago that Guillermo forced Nandor into such a position, debasing him and punishing him simply because he was human and belonged to Guillermo. It wasn’t so long ago that Guillermo planned to _murder_ Nandor, to snuff out his light simply because he’d become inconvenient to Guillermo’s plans. Who could trust such a man? Who could love him?”

Guillermo can’t think of any other way to show Nandor how much his love has changed him and how earnestly he wants to do better.

“But...why, master?” Nandor asks, reverting to the old honorific. His eyes shift nervously, teeth denting into his lower lip. He’s fidgeting with his hands. Nandor looks as timid and afraid as he used to be before his own punishments. 

“Because…” Guillermo flounders trying to explain reasons he only half-understands himself. “I don’t want to own you anymore, baby. I still see the fear in your eyes sometimes… when you’re worrying that you’ve disappointed me or made me angry. I never want to hurt you again, but I keep doing it even without trying.” He tightens his arms around Nandor’s legs, gulping against his lover’s congealed confusion, fear and lust. “I want to show you, baby… that I’m _yours_ now. You can do… whatever you want to me. And I’ll keep loving you.”

Guillermo’s voice gives out. Shivers wrack his form. He sits back, letting his arms drop away from Nandor and bowing his head as if in supplication. How many nights has he awoken from his coffin to find Nandor in such a position? His chest rises and falls in ragged breaths as he awaits his fate. Never in his unlife, at least not since leaving Simon, has Guillermo felt so entirely at the mercy of another.

He feels Nandor’s fingertips brush through his hair and, on instinct, leans into the touch, craving connection and comfort. Nandor’s voice sounds teary. “But, I am not w-wanting to hurt you either, master.”

“Don’t call me that!” Guillermo hisses. The words come out without any forethought, an irritable command that he wants to swallow back up. But what’s done is done. 

Nandor’s hand shrinks away; he takes a step back. Guillermo tries to follow his touch, but when his eyes meet Nandor’s, ice crystallizes in his chest. Nandor’s jaw is clenched, his eyes are glassy but fierce. 

“Y-you!” he chokes out, with a sound that’s half-sob and half-laugh. “You are f-forgetting your own rules, _Master Guillermo_.” Sarcasm drips from the title and Guillermo feels as though he’s been slapped. 

“You trained me, forced me, punished me if I got it wrong. And n-now that I am… free! Free to be choosing what I want and do not want. Now you say I am not allowed to call you ‘master’? Even if I am wanting to?”

Nandor turns and paces the width of the room, digging his fingers into his hair in frustration. “You s-said you do not want to own me anymore but you are still trying to c-control me! Y-you can’t make me forget. I don’t want to forget!”

Without his noticing, Guillermo’s arms cross over his chest, hugging his shoulders and shielding his unbeating heart from the fire in Nandor’s words. “I’m sorry, Nandor,” he speaks the words that have been carved and recarved on his insides for months. After every cruelty and after every kindness. Words that have echoed through his mind since the first moment he looked at his human and really, truly _saw_ him. _I’m sorry._

Nandor stops in front of him and Guillermo tastes that sliver of lust again, this time mixed with anger and resolve. 

“ _Do you need to make it up to me?_ ” He’s echoing Guillermo’s words from only two months ago. The night they found the dead thrall on the lawn…

And Guillermo understands.

He rises up onto his knees, crawling forward until he’s positioned almost between Nandor’s spread legs, his cheek brushing the crotch of his denim jeans. “Yes,” he breathes. “Please, baby. I— I’ll be so good for you. I w-want to be _your_ good boy.”

Nandor’s gasp cuts through the air between them. Guillermo senses the instant of hesitation in his lover, but it passes quickly. Nandor plunges his hand into Guillermo’s tangled curls, clenching his fingers and tugging until Guillermo’s face is turned upward, forcing him to make eye contact. Nandor’s eyes glow with the gold of vampiric battle lust. His words are a low growl, laced with a confidence that’s been growing steadily since his turning. 

“You know what to do.”

Guillermo feels like a shivering virgin. His fingers shake as he fiddles with the button and zipper on Nandor’s pants, releasing them and tugging awkwardly at the tight material until the vampire finally helps him, shucking off both his jeans and underwear in one motion. Guillermo is surprised to find Nandor almost fully hard. His fat, impressive length bobs expectantly in front of Guillermo’s face. 

“Show me how sorry you are, master,” Nandor commands in a voice almost as cold as Guillermo’s. He grabs the back of Guillermo’s head and guides him forward, forcing the slippery tip of his shaft past Guillermo’s soft lips. 

Guillermo tries to forget everything but the sensation of Nandor’s cock, thick and heavy on his tongue, edging towards the back of his throat. He feels himself harden, tenting his tight underwear, leaving a damp patch where the silky fabric clings to his weeping cock. He focuses on these physical sensations, lapping at Nandor’s cock, softly palming his sack as drool pools in the corners of his mouth and coats his chin. Guillermo humps the empty air, groaning and wordlessly pleading as he swallows his former familiar’s cock. 

“Th-that’s so nice, master,” Nandor breathes, lightly carding his hands through Guillermo’s curls. And then, as if remembering the occasion, he adds in a sterner tone, “Sh-show me you are being so sorry f-for making me the sex slave just like… Just like Simon did.”

Guillermo whines pitifully around Nandor, looking up at him through his long lashes as he bobs up and down, disappearing Nandor’s impressive length into his wet, sucking mouth. His eyes flutter closed as he relaxes his throat completely and takes Nandor’s complete length in a practiced, fluid motion. His tongue pulses and swirls over the underside of Nandor’s penis as he draws all the way back to the tip, letting his soft, wet lips pull on the velvet hardness before plunging back down again with an obscene, gurgling swallow.

Simon taught him how to do this.

And… surely he taught Nandor as well. With far less restraint than he used on Guillermo. Guillermo wants to gag for reasons entirely unrelated to the cock stuffed down his throat. But Nandor is starting to writhe and buck his hips against Guillermo’s face. His hands fist into Guillermo’s soft strands and loud, deep cries fall from Nandor’s lips. 

“So good!” Nandor cries, grabbing at the back of Guillermo’s head and forcing him to hold still as he thrusts into his mouth. “Good boy, Guillermo. My good master. Almost… almost…”

He comes with a drawn-out sob, his cock pulsing ropes of semen down Guillermo’s throat. Guillermo is limp, hanging from Nandor’s hold and simply swallowing what he’s given. He’s forgotten, for a little while, the guilt inside of him and the trauma he’s caused. But as Nandor pulls out, smacking his softening cock against Guillermo’s cheeks, everything comes back to him. Nandor must clearly see it in the way he holds himself, rigid as if expecting further punishment. Ready to offer penance until judgement day, if he must.

“More?” is all Nandor asks. Guillermo nods. “Take off your underpanties.”

The instinct to hurriedly comply takes Guillermo by surprise. He’s never before been interested in switching places like this. With either past lovers _or_ past familiars… But right now he thinks he must be experiencing some small shred of what Nandor feels when he yearns to be good, to earn praise. He can’t make Nandor forget what he did to him. But he can submit himself to Nandor’s mercy. He can help give Nandor a measure of control and confidence he hasn’t had in decades, or maybe ever.

He rises on shaky legs, quickly rolling his underpants down the generous curves of his thighs and calves. He leaves them crumpled on the floor, snapping back up to attention at once. Nandor pulls off his shirt and Guillermo takes a moment to savor his lover’s heartbreaking beauty. Nandor’s body is stronger now. There isn’t much that could truly hurt him anymore. At least not physically. But he still bears the marks of his past and he always will. Jagged, silvery scars criss cross his chest and stomach, his arms and legs. They’ve never talked about them, not in much detail, but Guillermo recognizes Simon’s style. He was always enamoured with leaving his signature. Guillermo himself even has one. A short, smooth brushstroke of scar tissue that edges the wing of his right shoulder blade. They’ve both been scarred by Simon. The difference being that Guillermo was free to leave.

Nandor sits on the edge of the mattress and Guillermo allows himself a swell of satisfaction when he notes his lover’s hands smooth over the soft fabric of the bedspread. Nandor looks up and catches Guillermo’s dancing eyes. He offers him a smile and Guillermo recognizes it for what it is: a comfort, a kindness. He is going to hurt Guillermo now, but he still loves him. Guillermo is overwhelmed by the gratitude he feels. A breath escapes his lungs, squeaking past his lips in a needy mewl. 

Nandor pats his lap, speaking in a tone that’s both soothing and the tiniest bit condescending, “It is alright, Guillermo. I am going to make you feel better.”

If he could, Guillermo would be blushing furiously. But his last feeding was hours ago and his blood is back to running quite cold. Still, he feels foolish stepping up beside Nandor and draping his naked torso over his lap until his feet dangle over the floor. Guillermo’s back is entirely exposed to Nandor’s view, his top half resting on the mattress beside him. He reminds himself this is just how Nandor must have felt countless times. Guillermo can swallow his pride and submit to this humiliation if it means cleaning a bit of the dirt from his soul.

Nandor lets his hand rest on the round globe of one butt cheek, gently running his palm over Guillermo’s unblemished skin. Guillermo’s stiff cock twitches in response, brushing against Nandor’s thigh. He swallows a moan, burying his face in the blanket to hide his shame. He should not be enjoying this. 

“When my penis would get hard from the spanking you would be calling me a slut,” Nandor muses softly, continuing his slow, soft perusal of Guillermo’s backside. “Do you think you are a slut, master?”

Guillermo lifts his head to respond, but Nandor’s other hand stops him, pressing his face back down into the sheets. “Shhh,” he whispers. “You are not a slut. You’re… you’re my good boy who is going to take his punishment now, right?”

Nandor’s voice sounds strained, as if he’s reading from a script. Guillermo hears his own words parrotted back at him and he nods without lifting his head, hunching up his shoulders as he braces for pain. Again he feels himself detach from his own mind; he’s just a body, pliant and helpless beneath Nandor’s hands. He vaguely tastes Nandor’s lust, love, anger and doubt, but it’s watered down, distant. 

“I do not want to be hurting you, my Guillermo.” Nandor’s voice is tight, sad. “But… I will do it. Because I think you are maybe being right about needing a punishment. But you will be telling me if it is too much, understand?” When Guillermo doesn't answer right away, Nandor bends down onto his side and sweeps the curls out of Guillermo’s eyes, looking at him seriously and repeating, “Understand?”

“Yes,” Guillermo breathes. 

The first smack lands softly on Guillermo’s rump, causing him to jump more in surprise than in actual pain. Nandor has spent every minute since he was turned learning to control his super strength. Guillermo shivers, realizing how much is at stake. Nandor could hurt him badly, if he wished. But the next few slaps are just as soft and tentative, causing Guillermo to squirm in impatient anticipation. 

“You can go harder, baby. It’s okay…” Guillermo murmurs. “ _Please_.”

Nandor goes still. He rests his idle hand on the small of Guillermo’s back, his thumb stroking circles into his skin. When he speaks, his voice sounds gravelly with repressed lust and emotion. “Are you certain? What if I… break you?”

Guillermo cranes his neck to peek at Nandor over the thick curve of his broad shoulder. “You won’t, baby. I trust you.”

He watches Nandor take in his words, knowing the weight of the past imbued in them. He can never scourge from his mind the way he taught Nandor to trust. Closing him inside the too-small coffin and forcing him to withstand its terrifying closeness while he stood just outside drinking his fear like champagne. 

Nandor’s hand comes down without warning while he maintains eye contact with Guillermo. It lights a fire through Guillermo’s nerves, striking with fierce precision and unflinching brutality. Guillermo feels his flesh shake with the bruising impact and he winces, shutting his eyes against the pain. 

“Like that, master?” Nandor asks, a bite in his voice. 

Guillermo can feel the tendril-like ether connection between them. It’s been there ever since Nandor was kidnapped; a soft, comforting buzz in the background of his mind. He wonders if Nandor picked up an echo of the memory he’d been reliving. He nods wordlessly and Nandor turns back to his work. 

Tears prick his eyes quicker than he expects. Nandor’s hand is powerful and large and he brings it down over and over again with an unrelenting force that’s beyond anything the average vampire could sustain. Guillermo jumps with every smack, biting back sobs and fisting his little fingers into the blanket. His vampiric healing prevents serious damage, but every hit is succeeded almost immediately by the next so that Guillermo doesn’t have a chance to catch his breath or recover from the pain. Each slap stings his sensitive skin, leaving the deep, tender ache of bruises forming and healing over and over again. He shuts his eyes, tears flowing over his cheeks and breath hitching, and tries to put himself in Nandor’s place. He’s spanked Nandor countless times. Never as hard as this, but then again, Nandor was human. His body couldn’t even heal itself the way Guillermo’s is now. He tells himself to shut up and take it, that this is his due for hurting the precious man currently doling out justice. But as the minutes drag on and Nandor’s hand shows no signs of stopping, he hears himself begging. 

“Please, please! I’m sorry, baby,” he gasps, squirming in Nandor’s lap; but he’s unable to get far beneath the pinning weight of Nandor’s hand on his back. 

A sudden silence fills the crypt. The next slap never falls but Guillermo flinches anyway, expecting violence when Nandor’s hand instead settles gently on the back of his thigh. 

“That is enough, master?” Nandor’s voice sounds ragged and far away. 

Guillermo finally crawls off Nandor’s lap, curling up against the headboard and looking back at him through messy curls. He’s shocked to see Nandor looking just as destroyed as he feels. His eyes are red-rimmed, tears stain his cheeks and snot glistens on his upper lip. Nandor’s shoulders are tensed and curled inward. His hands form tight fists in his lap. Guillermo feels himself nodding before his voice finally comes to him.

“I-it’s enough, baby.”

_It will never be enough_ , Guillermo realizes as his breathing steadies and the pain fades. No paltry punishment or gesture will ever be enough to alleviate his remorse. But they can still build something beautiful around it. Maybe. If Nandor wants to.

* * *

Nandor looks down at his palm. It should be red. It should be stinging and hurting but it feels just like a normal hand. The same one he uses to comb his hair and hold Guillermo’s hand and pat Miri’s head. Nandor thought that learning to murder for his sustenance would be impossible, but with each passing night he feels a greater disconnect between himself and the people who become his food. Will it be the same with this? Will he learn to hurt the one he loves? Is that how it was for Guillermo for all of that time he was hurting Nandor and loving him? 

Nandor doesn’t want it to be that way anymore. A sob claws up his throat and he curls in on himself, hugging his knees and crying. And Guillermo is there, of course, wrapping him in a hug even though he has just been hitting him over and over again. Guillermo will always be there. He was even there when he wasn’t there: in the cold darkness of Simon’s basement. Whispering to Nandor, soothing him through the ether. 

In a rush of desperate affection, Nandor turns on Guillermo, hurtling him down onto the bed and raining wet, open-mouthed kisses onto his mouth, his cheeks, his neck. “I love you.” He says the words over and over again. Sometimes these words have felt like a magic spell, evoking a pleasant make-believe for Nandor when he was at his lowest. Sometimes they’ve felt like a curse, dooming Nandor to unrequited feelings and a final, pitiful ending at his master’s hands. But tonight they are different. Nandor means them as a promise. He loves Guillermo. Forever. Not until his human memories return. Not until they defeat Simon. Not until he grows bored or afraid or resentful. Forever. He needs Guillermo to understand. 

He kisses and nips at Guillermo’s plump lips, hissing the words out as his hands roam down over the ample curves of Guillermo’s voluptuous chest. “I do not want to forget, master. And I want to call you ‘master’ sometimes, if I want to! But…” His thumbs swirl around the twin mounds of Guillermo’s dark nipples, flicking them back and forth until Guillermo flinches at the sensation. “But… I am never wanting to leave you. You’re mine. You’re my person. I chose. It does not matter that you feel bad about what you did. You should be feeling bad, I think. Sometimes. But… but not always because I love you and I am loving you because it is what I want. Okay?!”

By the end of his speech, Nandor can feel himself getting upset. His hands fall away from Guillermo and ball into the bedspread on either side of him. Tears slip from his cheeks, splashing into the folds of Guillermo’s belly and rolling down his side. Guillermo reaches up and cups his cheek, guiding him down and kissing him slowly. Guillermo is such a talented kisser. And now Nandor can have his kisses whenever he wants. He remembers nights of yearning and dreaming of a kiss from Guillermo. 

His lips are like silky pillows. So soft. How can they be that soft? They move against Nandor’s like they were made for kissing. Suckling his bottom lip. Guillermo flicks his tongue along Nandor’s lip before delving into his eager mouth. Nandor loses the thread of his panic. He only wants to feel more of Guillermo. His hands go back to their exploring, smoothing down over his belly and down his sides, and then on to the nest of trim curls between his legs and his eager erection. Even after so long, Nandor still feels a thrill that he can make Guillermo react to him in such a way. _Him_. With all his scars and his insecurities and his difficulty with words…

Guillermo flips them over and Nandor lets him. He could stop him if he wanted, Nandor realizes with a thrill. He could pin Guillermo down and rut into him cruelly and Guillermo would be powerless to stop Nandor with his new super strength. But Guillermo smiles playfully as he crawls over to the side of the bed, reaching into a new nightstand that Nandor hadn’t even noticed before. He pulls out a bottle of lube, flicking the cap open as he walks back over on his knees. 

“What do you want tonight, baby?” Guillermo asks as he settles in between Nandor’s spread thighs. He idly runs his hand along Nandor’s erect penis, causing him to shudder out a gasp before he can respond. 

At first Nandor thinks he wants Guillermo to ride him, to feel Guillermo’s tight walls close around him so deliciously. But then he changes his mind. This whole evening he’s felt the ghostly presence of their past relationship mingling with every touch, every breath. And he realizes he wants to feel the sublime contrast between then and now. He wants to feel Guillermo come inside him with tenderness and care, where once he would have simply taken what he wanted without concern over Nandor’s needs. 

For a second time this evening the bond between them does the work where words fail. Guillermo understands what Nandor wants at once. He drips the lube onto his blunt fingertips and brings them down to press against Nandor’s puckered entrance. They lock eyes and Nandor nods his permission before Guillermo begins probing forward, gently coaxing him open until first one, then two fingers slip inside of him. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” Guillermo promises. Nandor nods, mussing his hair as he does so. He knows Guillermo will take care of him. 

Guillermo takes his time fingering Nandor open. He’s methodical and gentle, frequently applying more lube and using his free hand to lightly stroke Nandor’s penis until it’s twitching and weeping beads of precum that pool on Nandor’s soft belly. Nandor whines, arching his back and gasping out a demand, “Now, Guillermo!”

Guillermo obeys. 

Nandor watches his face the whole time. During every deep, deliciously aching thrust and every pump of Guillermo’s soft fist around his rigid penis, Nandor keeps his eyes on Guillermo’s handsome, broken, beautiful face. 

_“You don’t get to look at me tonight."_

He recalls those words spoken in that cold voice that Nandor hasn’t heard directed at him in some time. But never again. He can look and look and look all he likes.

They climax together, the motion of Guillermo’s fist turning frantic as he feels his own peak approaching. Nandor screams out in joy and release. A knot of tension in his stomach finally lets go. Guillermo collapses down beside him and they curl up facing one another. Like cold little shrimps, Nandor thinks deliriously. 

“My handsome master,” he breathes, and he laughs with the beautiful relief of it all. And in the next instant a thought flits through his mind that takes him completely and utterly by surprise. It’s something that has always been so categorically impossible that Nandor shocks himself with it.

He’d like to address Guillermo by another title. One day. Maybe one day soon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the shit pipes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys? I really feel very uncertain on this chapter and how successful it is. Which sucks since I've been working up to this moment for months. So if you want to leave me nice comments that would be very appreciated!

It’s late. Or early. The sun still looms over the horizon, but only just. Long, cool shadows clothe the house in a protective shroud. Nandor yawns— jaw cracking, fangs snapping at the empty air— and buries his face into the crook of Guillermo’s neck. Guillermo is dead to the world: lying flat on his back, arms crossed over his chest in “death mode.” He’s an adorably heavy sleeper. Nandor peeks up at his profile: the straight line of his delicate nose, the pillowy curve of his lips, his perfectly arched brows and long, dark lashes resting on chubby cheeks. Nandor smiles as he leans in and presses a tender kiss to Guillermo’s pale skin.

The instant his lips graze Guillermo’s cheek, an odd ripple flows through him. The briefest sensation of light and sound overtakes his mind before quickly fading away. Nandor leans back, staring at Guillermo’s slack, slumbering face. The vision is too quick to discern any details but of one thing he is certain: it’s  _ Guillermo _ . Nandor felt Guillermo’s signature on his mind: a swirling curlicue of cold calculation, warm affection and  _ yearning _ — a powerful yearning that Nandor recalled sensing in the spectral human version of his master. Thinking about the little human librarian plucks a cord in Nandor’s chest. He wraps his arms around Guillermo, hugging him tight. 

As he falls back to sleep, Nandor plunges into strange, foreign dreams. He hovers in shadow, watching Guillermo putter around an unfamiliar house. His hair is different: parted down the middle, curls brushed into orderly waves. And his glasses are round and wire-rimmed. Guillermo makes tea, cooks dinner, cleans— while a cloud of loneliness and longing hangs around him like a toxic miasma. Nandor’s view fades in and out, but Guillermo’s presence clings to him. The last thing he sees, before finally drifting into dreamless sleep, is Guillermo reaching for something on top of a bookshelf. It’s hidden behind an orderly row of volumes: an album, bound in white cloth. Guillermo hugs it to his chest before fading away.

* * *

When Miri arrives to wake her masters, she finds Nandor with an arm and a leg slung over Guillermo’s rigid form. His long hair is fanned out and partly draped across Guillermo’s face. She pauses for a moment to appreciate the cuteness of the scene, simultaneously marveling at how much and how suddenly her life has changed.

And there’s more change coming. She can feel it.

* * *

The magicians are finally about to use the button and travel to Fillory when Nandor is startled from his reading by a sudden, loud buzzing coming from the nightstand on his right. He drops the book into his lap, eyeing Guillermo’s cell phone as it vibrates with an incoming call. 

In the past Nandor would’ve been stricken with indecision. Unsure whether or not he was allowed to touch his master’s phone. Today Nandor doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, flipping it over and seeing a familiar name glaring from the bright screen:  _ Count Rapula _ . Should he bring it to Guillermo? He definitely won’t make it in time, his vampiric speed somewhat hindered by a tendency to crash into walls and demolish sheetrock. He thinks about last night, about Guillermo giving himself to him, begging Nandor to seize control. No second-guessing; he fumbles with the stylus on the side of the phone, awkwardly swiping a few times before succeeding in answering the call.

A moment of awkward silence passes before he hears Rapula’s voice sounding confused, “Hello? Boss?”

Nandor toys with the scrunchie holding up his sloppy bun as he answers, “Hi... Hello. This is Nandor.” The pressure in the room seems to drop. His eardrums pound and his throat feels thick. He’s talking to Count Rapula. By himself. Nandor remembers the vampire’s incessant, mediocre rapping. His mind tries reaching back for more details, more memories, but he shuts it down. 

“Oh,” Rapula replies. Another awkward pause. “Is Guillermo there?”

Yes, he is. Specifically, Guillermo is in the library cataloging Nandor’s books in order to incorporate them into the household collection. Up until now Nandor has stored his rather impressive book pile under his old bed. Guillermo had seemed almost shy when he offered to do this. Immediately, Nandor was reminded of little human Memo, caring for the books in that dark, scary library. And, more recently, the glimpse he’d seen of him just this evening in Guillermo’s dreams. Nandor had thought that side of Guillermo— the innocence, the vulnerability, the humanity— to be lost. It makes him glow with joy to think that it isn't.

Nandor should go and get him, shouldn’t he? But Guillermo keeps saying he wants Nandor to be equal...

“He is busy. Is this about Simon?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t think—”

“Guillermo will be very angry if you disrespect me.” Nandor straightens his spine, trying for the half-hearted power pose he adopts when he needs to correct a thrall. He only manages to quarter-heart it, but it’s better than shrinking in fear. 

Invoking Guillermo’s wrath seems effective. Rapula launches into his report at once. “I met with Simon. He looks grody, dawg. Bony, pale, covered in shit. He’s not eating enough. Asked me to bring him a victim in the sewer, first thing. He—”

“And did you?” Nandor interrupts. His thoughts are racing too fast for him to feel the trepidation about asserting himself. “Bring him a human, I am meaning?”

“Well, yeah— didn’t want to blow my cover, right?”

Nandor remains silent and listens to the rest of what Rapula has to say. He tries to picture Simon as Rapula describes: weak, reduced, pitiful. But instead, he sees Simon standing over him in the basement of the Sassy Cat, smiling cruelly, scissors in hand as he yanks at Nandor’s hair. He yanks the scrunchie from his hair, letting the tresses fall reassuringly around his shoulders as he attempts to focus.

Simon seems to be nesting in the sewer near the Costco by Freshkills Park. He’s alone. No allies. Rapula promised to round up some crew members and rejoin him. Simon wasn’t forthcoming on a plan, but revenge is clearly on his mind. 

“He wouldn’t stop talkin’ about Guillermo. The guy is seriously strung out on him. And—” Rapula pauses for a beat. “One other thing. He— uh… he thinks you’re dead. I didn’t say otherwise. Element of surprise or whatever…”

Nandor grunts in response. His mind is sluggishly straining to keep up with Rapula’s information while his nerves are screaming.  _ Costco _ . Miri does the grocery shopping at Costco. Simon is weak… but not as weak as he was before Rapula fed him that human. They should strike soon, shouldn’t they? Guillermo would know. He should tell Guillermo. He will say to strike in the daytime, let the witches or the werewolves take care of Simon when he is at his weakest. But then… a cold panic grips Nandor’s chest. Then he could never be sure, really, if Simon were gone… It is all so confusing and scary and Nandor wants to crawl back under the covers and read his book. He wants never to have met Simon. But… but then he never would have met his Guillermo…

“Th-thank you, Rapula,” Nandor finally says in a tone approximating a calm he doesn’t feel. “I will tell Guillermo.”

Rapula hangs up and Nandor stares at Guillermo’s homescreen: a photo of Nandor lying on the couch in the library, blue television light limning the jagged features of his pale face. He doesn’t remember Guillermo taking it; he must have sneaked it. The thought makes him smile despite the tension coiling in his stomach like a rattlesnake about to bite.

He should go and tell Guillermo the news. Guillermo will be calm and practical. He’ll hug Nandor and tell him that everything will be okay-a. But something holds him back. Despite Guillermo’s history with Simon, Nandor knows the coming confrontation is meant for  _ him _ . Guillermo had his fight, now it’s Nandor’s turn. And Nandor is even fairly sure that he will win, given Simon’s current state. But the knowledge doesn’t erase his fright. Nandor has never been in a fight before; he’s never hurt anyone or anything on purpose. Even his victims feel nothing thanks to Guillermo’s hypnosis. The thought of facing off against Simon turns his guts to water. Bloody bile threatens to rise up his throat and his hands shake. He just wants one more night of peace before facing what he has to do... 

Nandor finds Guillermo seated on the dilapidated antique couch in the library. He’s hunched over a paperback copy of  _ Practical Magic _ and painstakingly attaching a strip of paper to the spine on which he’s written a call number in careful, uniform letters. Nandor’s mouth quirks into a lop-sided smile as he comes up from behind, bending over the back of the couch and wrapping his long arms around Guillermo’s chest. 

“Hi… Memo,” he says, trying out the nickname with a faltering tongue. Guillermo leans back, melting into his embrace and turning to peck his lips in a chaste kiss. His glasses are skewed and his fingers stained in ink from the felt-tip pen he uses on the books. Nandor glances at the label on the book. “Why are you writing the author’s name on it? It is already on the spine right there!” he asks, indicating the embossed letters on the book’s spine.

Guillermo’s cheeks darken slightly, the hot blood from his dinner filling them with a glowing blush. “Because I… it’s for uniformity,” he explains, waving a hand at the shelves lining the room. Every book is carefully labeled in Guillermo’s impeccable hand, cataloged and placed in order by author, title and subject. 

Something in Nandor’s chest loosens. Simon may be lurking in the shit pipes, but it is warm and safe here in the library with his little librarian. He comes around to the front of the couch, catching Guillermo’s eyes as he sinks down to his knees. He snuggles up to Guillermo’s legs and props his chin onto his knee. “Is this okay?” he asks, hands winding around Guillermo’s sock-clad foot. 

For once Guillermo looks at Nandor on his knees without the shadow of their past darkening his gaze. Last night’s catharsis still lingers between them: a light, buzzy atmosphere of release. He nods, brushing blunt fingers through Nandor’s hair. “Yeah, it’s okay, baby.”

They spend the night in the library, Guillermo methodically cutting and printing labels, pasting them to spines and setting the books aside to dry. Nandor’s head lolls against his thigh and he lets the quiet sounds of his lover’s project soothe his apprehension. He drifts away for a while, like he used to do in the old days during meetings and parties, when Guillermo kept him at his feet as an ornament. It feels good. He knows he can go away in his own head and Guillermo will keep him safe. 

Guillermo will always keep him safe. 

Tomorrow he’ll confront the truth waiting for him. That he can’t let Guillermo keep him safe this time. This time Nandor needs to fight.

* * *

  
The joggers obediently follow Guillermo into the wooded undergrowth where Nandor waits. A part of him worries for his mate. If they were ever separated would Nandor be able to feed himself? Or would he starve rather than attack someone or use hypnosis? Another part of Guillermo still feels pleasure in providing for his little Nandor, nourishing him and caring for him. Guillermo realizes the duality is something that he will simply have to get used to. Nandor isn’t going to change just to suit Guillermo’s suddenly enlightened attitude.

Nandor melts out of the shadows; he moves gracefully and without making a sound: a predator despite himself.

“Thank you, master,” he whispers distractedly, hungry eyes already tracking the dazed and sluggish movements of their prey. It’s a man and a woman dressed in matching tracksuits. While hypnotizing them, Guillermo got the sense that they were a couple. He doesn’t divulge this to Nandor. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” Guillermo answers. Watching Nandor, his eyes burning with vampiric hunger, Guillermo is struck by the sudden and undeniable need to kiss him. He swoops in, leaving the couple swaying in their stupor, and grabs the collar of Nandor’s hooded sweatshirt. He tugs the taller vampire down to his level, crashing their mouths together in a fierce kiss. Nandor squeals in delight, momentarily distracted from his growling stomach. Nandor’s kiss is syrupy sweet with love and enthusiasm. Guillermo curses himself for every night that he denied the human his lips, preferring to feast on Nandor’s disappointment and hurt feelings. What a fool he’d been.

Their tongues tease and stroke one another, fangs brushing dangerously against soft, plump lips. Finally, Guillermo pulls back, returning his attention to the two humans who have started to slip from his sway. He beckons to them and they walk forward at once, their faces pictures of contentment and peace. The woman drifts to Nandor, the man to Guillermo; they melt into the vampires’ arms like willing lovers.

Guillermo waits, holding his victim in a gentle embrace, soothing him with soft strokes along his narrow shoulders. He watches Nandor from the corner of his eye. They have a ritual now. Guillermo finds the prey, leads them back to his mate and Nandor says grace, so to speak.

Nandor looks down at the woman hanging limp in his arms. He ducks his head and whispers next to her ear, but his voice is clear as a bell to Guillermo’s vampiric hearing. “Thank you, little human lady. We are sorry to be killing you and your friend. But I promise it will not hurt and your blood will make us healthy and strong. Now you will just be taking a nice little nap while I am kissing your neck, okay?”

The woman nods, her head lolling on her neck. Guillermo’s chest aches as he watches Nandor delicately brush her hair away from her throat and lower his fangs to the pulse point. His sweet boy. 

The humans die with barely a whimper. 

They leave the bodies beneath a dense bush, Nandor carefully clasping their cold, lifeless hands together “so they will not be scared.” Guillermo watches this in bemusement, but his strongest emotion is  _ relief _ . In the first days after his turning Nandor wept after every feeding. Now the vampire may have some odd dinner-time rituals, but he’s not in danger of starving himself. The fact that Guillermo has turned Nandor into an unwilling murderer is just one more entry in a ledger that he’ll never balance. 

“Am I looking decent?” Nandor startles Guillermo from his gloomy thoughts. Guillermo looks up at his mate. Nandor has one eyebrow arched and his lips are quivering with a suppressed smile— it’s clear the vampire knows how shocking he looks. Nandor has learned to control his strength, but Guillermo fears he’ll always be a messy eater.

“How did you get it so far up in your hair?” Guillermo gripes playfully, digging a handkerchief from the pocket of his elegant wool coat. “And look at your sweatshirt! It’s a good thing you never wear anything nicer than Target brand…”

“Hey!” Nandor protests while submitting to Guillermo’s careful cleaning of his beard, neck, cheeks and hair. “You are not allowed to be mean to me!”

Nandor’s tone is light and Guillermo tastes only the amusement coming off of him. But still. It feels like a defining moment. It’s only been two nights since he went down on his knees and begged Nandor to make him attone. Since then there has been a lightness between them. Guillermo still feels the burden of the past, as Nandor must, but he thinks he might be allowed to be happy… to tease...

“Why shouldn’t I be mean to you?” he replies in a mockery of his patented cold manner, adopting a falsely haughty expression. He sounds playfully l confident, but his stomach twists and squirms.  _ Is this okay? _ He’s been so very careful with Nandor...

Nandor snorts, leaning down to whisper directly into Guillermo’s ear, “Because if you are mean to me, then I will punish you.  _ Master _ .”

_ Oh. _ Nandor’s breath tickles the hairs on Guillermo’s neck; his tall form looms over him, impressive despite his casual hoodie and jeans. Guillermo’s body sways forward as if pulled by a gravitational field surrounding his lover. He presses the plush swell of his belly against Nandor’s. His cock twitches with sudden interest, flushed and hot from the blood he’s just consumed.

Guillermo’s pupils dilate, his eyes becoming jet black orbs limned in a feral gleam. He looks up at Nandor through long lashes, noting the smear of blood across the bridge of his nose. He forces a sneer into his voice. “You look so stupid right now,  _ baby.”  _ Uncertainty trembles in the words. His hands seek beneath the hem of Nandor’s sweater, trailing over his hairy stomach and grabbing fistfuls of pudgy flesh. “Can’t even manage to drain one hypnotized human without making a mess, can you?”

There’s an instant of quavering doubt. Guillermo doesn’t know if this false meanness is too close to the real thing. He watches Nandor’s brows flinch up and down, his eyes flicking over Guillermo’s face as he seems to decide. Finally, the baby vampire’s lips spread in a wicked, knife edge grin and he grabs at Guillermo’s wrists, dragging him over to a gnarled old oak tree and slamming Guillermo’s front against the rough bark. Nandor rips at the long skirt of Guillermo’s wool coat, rucking it up over his ass so he can grind against Guillermo’s ample, plush bottom.

“I will be teaching you a lesson, Mr. Big-Penis-Master-Vampire-Man!” Nandor growls. His dirty talk is still something of a work in progress, but Guillermo hears himself moan in response anyway. Nandor has him pinned: soft cheek scraping against the unforgiving tree bark, arms trapped between the trunk and his body. He feels the hard shaft of Nandor’s erection through layers of fabric as the vampire rocks his hips. Guillermo’s mouth falls open, lips glistening with saliva. Every dry thrust against his clothed backside presses Guillermo’s painfully engorged cock against the rough tree trunk.

“Fuck, Nandor,” he moans. He can hardly move beneath Nandor’s weight. He’s completely helpless and lost in lust, but there is no one else he’d trust with this power over him. How is he so lucky? “You’re so strong, baby. I love you like this.”

If you had asked Guillermo on the night he walked out on Simon if he would allow another vampire to dominate him, to degrade him in such a manner ever again, he would have laughed in your face. And then eaten you. But tonight, Guillermo has never been more turned on than he is by his ex-familiar’s wanton, wild confidence.

Nandor’s arms encircle Guillermo’s waist. His hands plunge into Guillermo’s coat and begin frantically fiddling with his belt and pant button. He’s clearly struggling, emitting little frustrated growls and in danger of simply tearing the fabric from Guillermo’s legs altogether.  _ These are nice pants. _

“Wait.  _ Wait, _ baby!” Guillermo pleads. Nandor finally takes a half-step back, allowing him room to undo the belt and pants himself. He slips them down over his voluptuous thighs, letting them puddle at his ankles. “Okay,” he mutters softly, glancing at Nandor over his shoulder.

Nandor is on him again in an instant, his hands boldly roaming over Guillermo’s heaving body. He reaches down to cup Guillermo’s hefty balls, brushing his palm over the sensitive skin. His other hand wanders up over the generous hillock of Guillermo’s round belly, squeezing his breast and flicking the stiffening nipple. Guillermo jumps, hissing in response, thrusting his hips involuntarily. Nandor, forgetting his stern role, lavishes an open-mouthed kiss onto Guillermo’s fleshy shoulder before whispering with emotion choking his voice, “You are so beautiful, Guillermo. So handsome. And you are feeling so good. I love you more than…” He pauses and Guillermo can sense his struggle. It’s a bitter aftertaste to the gourmet lust washing over him. Nandor spent two decades forbidden to feel this way… “...m-more than anything, my Memo.” 

Guillermo beams at Nandor’s praise, his chest filling with pride and affection. He drops his head back to rest against Nandor’s shoulder, arching his body into his hands while squirming against Nandor’s insistent erection. “I don’t deserve you, baby,” he admits. The words sound loud and harsh in the silent wood.

Nandor’s chin bumps his temple as he shakes his head. “Loving is not deserving or earning. It is just me giving you love and you giving it back. That’s all.”

There’s a fervent force behind Nandor’s words and Guillermo realizes Nandor is convincing himself as well. He doesn’t have to earn love and affection and kindness. Not anymore. 

Nandor finally shifts behind him, unzipping his jeans and sliding the slick tip of his shaft into Guillermo’s cleft, pumping once, twice. A pleased groan falls from his lips. “Memo, Memo, Memo,” he sighs into Guillermo’s ear, wrapping his fingers around Guillermo’s straining erection and pumping in time with his own thrusts. “I don’t want to hurt you again, master. Like— like the other night,” he speaks the words like an admission and Guillermo is quick to nod in reassurance.

“It’s okay, baby. We—” He gasps, Nandor’s fingers tightening their hold and jerking him roughly. “We don’t have to hurt each other anymore.”

Nandor tries his best to open Guillermo up, fingering him with only saliva and precum for lubricant. The sharp stretch of Nandor’s delicate fingers sends Guillermo clinging to the tree trunk, mewling and panting and desperate for more. When Nandor finally does enter him, Guillermo howls, “Fuck, baby. You feel so good inside me, Nandor. Do you know that? Do you know how good you feel?”

Nandor hums in answer, driving deeper and deeper until his hips are flush with Guillermo’s quivering buttocks. His long hair tickles Guillermo’s neck as he bends down to press a kiss to the stubbled edge of his jaw. “You feel good too, Memo.” 

Guillermo knows Nandor is using the nickname to please him. Though It must still feel strange on his tongue because when Nandor starts to lose himself in the relentless frenzy of his love-making, it’s “master” that he cries out at the top of his lungs, hips swinging back and forth as he mercilessly pulls on Guillermo’s rigid length. “Master. Master. Master,” he cries as he stutters into a chaotic rhythm, slamming Guillermo into the tree until granules of bark embed in the soft skin of his face. “Please! Yes, master!” as he comes, wringing out Guillermo’s own orgasm with his tightly coiled fingers, burying his length inside of him, chasing the borrowed warmth of their victims’ blood. 

Afterwards, they lay curled up at the base of the tree, it’s ancient, gnarled roots cradling them together. Nandor carefully plucks the dirt and bits of bark from Guillermo’s face, dropping chaste kisses to every rapidly healing scrape. Guillermo looks up at his Nandor, his pale skin faintly glowing in the dark. He realizes, with a mix of gratitude, awe and unmistakable dread, that his dreams have come true. Everything he ever wanted as a lonely human man— everything he still wanted as a lonely vampire— is here. Nandor holding him in his arms, kissing him sweetly and whispering soft words to him. He’s incandescently happy and simultaneously terrified. 

Simon tried to take Nandor once and nearly succeeded. Guillermo can’t let him live to try again.

* * *

  
The initial wave of lustful energy that accompanied Nandor’s dinner begins to wane as he walks back along the moonlit jogging path with Guillermo at his side. A pleasant drowsiness tugs at his limbs and makes his eyelids feel heavy. He contorts his spine in order to drop his head onto Guillermo’s shoulder as they walk. They hold hands, fingers twined together; Guillermo lets his own head clonk down onto Nandor’s. 

“We could try flying home…” Guillermo suggests in a hopeful tone. 

But Nandor groans, shaking his head. “Too tired!” he whines, grabbing onto Guillermo’s fancy coat and hanging off him. The gravel on the path crunches as he drags his feet. 

Guillermo is probably rolling his eyes, but his voice comes out gentle. “I’ll carry you then, baby.”

Nandor smiles at the image of soaring through the night sky in Guillermo’s arms. He’s nodding his head and turning to answer him when they both stop in their tracks, momentarily distracted by the odd, haunting sound that suddenly engulfs them. 

Piano music, slow and lugubrious, drifts on the cool night air around them. The vampires glance around the dark, deserted park, but there’s no obvious source. Nandor strains his ears, trying to pick out the melody. It sounds familiar somehow.

“Where could it be coming from, mas—” he starts to ask, but Guillermo suddenly pulls away, striding toward the end of the path where it meets with the sidewalk at the park’s edge. He stops and points down at a harmless, unassuming sewer grate. The music reaches a crescendo and Nandor suddenly recognizes the song, though it’s been rendered in a mournful minor key.  _ Bad Romance _ . “Wh-what is being the name of this park, master?”

Guillermo’s brow knits in confusion as he answers, “Freshkills…”

Nandor’s stomach plummets. His gorge rises and he doubles over, balancing his hands on shaky knees. Guillermo rushes over, rubbing his little hands up and down Nandor’s back as he heaves with big, gulping breaths. 

“Simon,” he admits, guilty at having delayed in telling Guillermo the news. “It is Simon.” The words spill out. He explains the phone call from Rapula, his fear, his yearning for just a little bit more time of quiet happiness before having to confront the demon of his past. He finally collapses against Guillermo, clinging to him and burying his face in his plush shoulder. “I am sorry for n-not telling you before.”

“Shhh,” Guillermo soothes him, strong arms held tight around his shaking shoulders. “It’s alright, baby.” Guillermo pauses and when he speaks again it’s as if he’s forcing the words out. “Simon doesn’t know we’re here. We can leave and send the werewolves after him in the daytime.”

It’s so tempting to agree. To meekly nod his head and let Guillermo carry him home and tuck him into their safe, warm bed. Someone else can deal with Simon. Nandor doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t want to see Simon’s ugly face again or hear his horrible voice. But he has to. They’re here now for a reason; this is how Nandor is meant to proceed, to move on and finally feel… free.

“No, master,” he says, letting his arms drop from around Guillermo and standing up straight. “No, Guillermo. We— I have to do this. Tonight.”

  
  
  
  


They’ve never really talked about what to do with Simon once they catch him, Nandor muses as they creep along the foul-smelling underground causeway. He glances at Guillermo and finds him grimacing in disgust at the slimy muck coating the soles of his expensive shoes. But it’s been understood between them ever since Nandor came home, since Guillermo rescued him. Simon must be killed.

Nandor knows this. And he desires nothing more than to live in a world without Simon in it. He even knows that he must be the one to do the killing. He’s the one who needs to finally silence Simon’s hypnotic voice. But that doesn’t quiet the shrill, terrified voice echoing back to him from the past. Telling him to be afraid, to run, to hide. 

They follow the sound of the music through the narrow, labyrinthine tunnels until they come to some kind of junction. Guillermo stops Nandor just before the turn that will bring them into the hub and the source of the trilling piano notes. 

“Baby,” he whispers, resting his hands over Nandor’s broad chest, meeting his eyes with a look of earnest solicitude. “We can still leave. You don’t have to—” But Nandor is already shaking his head. Guillermo swallows the rest of the sentence, takes a shaky breath and nods. “Okay, baby.” 

Nandor rings his fingers around Guillermo’s wrists, clinging to him, falling into his eyes. “Should we… have a plan?” he whispers. Nandor’s been so wrapped up in his own anxiety that he hasn’t stopped to consider how frightening this must be for Guillermo— strategic, methodical, controlling Guillermo: walking in without a plan. 

But Guillermo actually smiles, shaking his head. “Simon is alone. He’s not in a fortress surrounded by allies. Besides, my plan didn’t go exactly perfect last time…”

Guillermo turns as if to rush in, but Nandor stops him with a hand on his elbow, hissing, “He is thinking I am dead!”

Guillermo’s eyes widen, a thoughtful look overtaking his face. “Okay…”

* * *

  
Leaving Nandor behind in the shadows feels  _ wrong _ . It feels wrong to be walking  _ alone _ into the dripping, stinking tunnel hub, catching sight of Simon’s hunched, shriveled form behind the piano. Simon’s head snaps up at once, his pale eyes look even more washed out than usual, the irises almost melting into the whites. Guillermo tastes the spike of alarm and fear at once, so Simon’s false sneer doesn’t fool him.

“My darling, G,” Simon cooes. His hands abruptly appear from behind the piano and Guillermo realizes the dumb shit hasn’t even been playing. He picks up a clunky looking phone and stabs at it; the music stops abruptly, bathing them in silence. “After everything, have you come to offer your old companion succor in his hour of need?” The desperate quality in his voice would be amusing if Guillermo couldn’t also taste the sour tendril of Nandor’s panic and fear wafting from behind him. He aches for Nandor. He wants to rip out Simon’s throat here and now. But he recalls the seriousness in Nandor’s voice when he’d spoken. _ I have to do this,  _ he’d said. It has to be Nandor.

“What could you possibly need from me?” Guillermo taunts, unable to resist. He keeps advancing on Simon, stopping on the other end of the baby grand piano and delicately resting his deceptively soft-looking hands on the shiny black surface. “A hybrid freak?”

Simon darts his eyes from left to right, checking entrances and shadowy corners. He takes a step back, holding up his hands. “Come now, G! You know I have a— a sharp tongue at times! But it’s all in jest, surely. You wouldn’t truly forsake me, would you? Now that the… little human is gone?”

For a second it’s real. Guillermo exists in a parallel universe in which Nandor bled out in his arms that night at the club. And for this instant he is filled with a burning, consuming fire that burns white hot and obscures everything else in his mind. Guillermo lunges, flying over the top of the piano and tackling Simon to the dirty ground. 

_ This isn’t the plan, is it? _ They roll through filthy, stagnant puddles, struggling for dominance. Guillermo expected Simon to be weakened, but in his confidence he’d forgotten that the vampire has centuries on him. Simon is strong, even in his current condition. Maybe even stronger than Guillermo. 

_ What was the plan again? _ He was supposed to lure Simon into the tunnel. Get him to let his guard down. And Nandor would jump out of the shadows, scare the shit out of him and rip his throat out. That was the plan until Guillermo’s thawed out heart got in the way. 

His roar echoes off the walls and down the tunnels, feral, unhinged. He claws at Simon’s face, snaps at his jugular and knees his gut. Simon wheezes at the impact, but recovers quickly, managing to roll them over and pin Guillermo beneath him. He pins Guillermo’s wrists to the ground on either side of his head. Simon laughs, rank, stale breath ghosting over Guillermo’s face. “I should’ve done this after the first time I fucked you. That’s all you were ever good for, anyway.” 

Simon rears back, fangs elongated, poised to strike. Guillermo’s eyes fix on those wicked points about to tear into his flesh. Then, in a moment that seems to stretch beyond the bounds of time, his eyes refocus over Simon’s shoulder. He looks into the face of Nandor, his dream boy, and finds him as he’s never seen him before: eyes dark with vengeful rage, mouth twisted in hatred. Nandor grabs Simon by the scruff of his neck and hauls him off Guillermo. He spins him around to face him, letting his former tormentor get a good look.

“I— You’re—” For once Simon is speechless. His eyes grow wide as saucers and his mouth hangs open in stupefied shock. Guillermo watches him squirm and struggle; he watches the realization dawn over his face as he realizes that he, Simon the Devious, is too weak to break free from Nandor’s grip. His dread tastes like spoiled milk and rotting fruit. Despite this he makes a final plea. “Mercy! Please! You’re not a killer, surely—”

Nandor doesn’t smile. What he does with his mouth could never compare to the sunny, joyful expression he reserves for Guillermo, Miri and even the other vampires in the household. No, this is something far more disturbing. He bares his teeth at Simon, the wicked edges of his fangs merely confirming what Simon must already have deduced from Nandor’s impossible strength. He is, indeed, a killer now. 

“Go ahead,” Nandor growls, wrapping his long fingers around Simon’s throat. “I like it when you struggle.” 

Simon’s face darkens in fury. He either gives up, or he truly has no idea of the danger he is in. The pleading desperation melts from his face and he unleashes his mad vitriol without hesitating. “You think just because you’re a vampire now you’re not still the same mewling, pathetic little slut who let me rape him for scraps of food and pats on the head?! You think you can ever forget how you debased yourself? How you tried to get me to LOVE you? When you crawled around and begged to suck my cock thinking you could somehow earn love from ME? Who could ever love something so disgusting? So—”

But Nandor doesn’t give him the chance to finish his insult. Guillermo watches in disbelief as his nervous little Nandor calmly and casually tightens both hands around Simon’s neck and squeezes until Simon doesn’t have a neck anymore. Blood and viscera explode from the gaping stump, showering Nandor in gore as the body and severed head fall to the ground. 

Guillermo is still lying on the floor, half-paralyzed with shock, as Nandor starts to shake. Nandor’s long arms come up to hug his own shoulders and his spine curves as he sinks into himself. Tear tracks cut through the crimson blood painting his face. Nandor’s head swivels wildly as he seeks his master with eyes wide, but unseeing. He needs Guillermo. 

“I’m here, baby,” Guillermo squeaks, finally finding his voice. 

Nandor falls down and crawls over the soiled ground to reach him. He hovers over Guillermo, blood stained hands cupping his cheeks, his tears dropping onto Guillermo’s own cheeks, trailing sideways into his hairline. 

“It’s alright, baby,” Guillermo insists. “He’s gone now.”

Nandor bends down and presses his lips to Guillermo’s mouth. Their kiss tastes like Simon’s blood and they revel in it. Long, languid strokes of tongues, lips suckling and teeth nibbling. When Nandor finally pulls back he looks down at Guillermo and his face, even covered in gore, is once again the face of Guillermo’s sweet, soft boy. 

“Can we go home now?”

* * *

  
Nandor insists and Guillermo can’t refuse him. They manage to haul the carcass back to the house by sheer brute strength and Guillermo’s hypnosis of a soft-brained taxi driver. Guillermo suggests calling on one of the thralls to assist when they arrive home, but Nandor’s withering glance is all it takes to silence the suggestion. It’s not as if they aren’t super-powered immortal creatures of the night. They drag the body effortlessly into the back yard, leaving it sprawled on the grass, the head placed above where the neck used to be.

Nandor calls Miri, Nan and Justin to the back porch. Miri takes one look at Nandor’s gore-splattered appearance and runs forward. “Master! What happened? Are you alright, are you—?”

She catches sight of the mangled corpse lying in the grass. They all do. The humans approach it slowly, as if worried Simon will rise from the grave and snatch them back to their old lives if they’re not careful. But Simon has no power anymore. His body is a _thing_ now. It lies on the ground, discarded and worthless, just as he made these humans feel when they were under his power. 

“We’ll leave him here to turn to dust when the sun comes up,” Guillermo explains. He drifts over to Nandor and wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“Yes,” Nandor agrees. He keeps his eyes on his humans, avoiding the mauled remains on the grass. “And you may all come outside and watch so that you are knowing he is really gone. No… no chores tomorrow.”

The thralls remain silent, huddled over the corpse and clinging to one another. Finally, Miri breaks off from the other two and comes forward. She looks to Guillermo, silently asking his permission. Nandor feels Guillermo nod beside him and then Miri is rushing forward and wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you, master,” she cries. 

Nandor’s chin wobbles; his eyes fill with tears. “You are welcome, Miri. He won’t hurt us ever again,” he sobs, burying his face in her curly hair and returning the hug. He pulls her in tight to his chest with one arm, hugging Guillermo with the other. Guillermo pillows his face on Nandor’s shoulder and wraps them both in an embrace. The three of them cling to one another and finally exorcise the evil spirit that’s haunted each of them in different ways.

“It’s almost sunrise,” Miri whispers at last, stepping away reluctantly. 

The vampires nod, following her wordlessly to their chamber. She helps both of them undress, her face stoic as she peels the blood stained clothes from Nandor’s body and helps him into his pajamas. Guillermo even allows her to assist him, mutely submitting to her touch. They’ve been through… a lot. When they’re both changed and tucked under the covers, Miri walks to the door and flicks off the lights. She calls softly before leaving, “Goodnight, my masters.”

“G’night, Miri,” Nandor mumbles, already falling to sleep as he turns toward Guillermo, intent on clinging to him all through their slumber.   
  


* * *

Miri, Nan and Justin stand side by side on the back porch as the sun’s first ray lances over the horizon. The gray early morning sky bleeds red as day finally breaks. The body burns quickly, skin blackening and hair wisping away to nothing. Before their eyes Simon the Devious, the nightmare of their lives, is reduced to a pile of ash and char. Just a bit of a mess, easily handled with a broom and dustpan. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Dark Gigi Friends,  
> Here it is. The final chapter of this messed up, sexy, crazy, demented, heartfelt, wild novel-length story that has grown into something I am so very proud of. Dark Gigi is so special to me. I'm incredibly thankful to everyone who has read it, commented, left kudos, yelled at me, sent vibes through the ether, beta read, brainstormed, told me what to write, made fan art, wrote spin offs and generally interacted with this story. You guys make me feel so proud to have written this and the story would not exist as it is today without all of you.
> 
> Special thanks (lol jfc who do I think I am?) to these friends who have beta read/brainstormed/given incredible feedback:  
> Meli (beta extraordinaire, Dark Gigi early adopter, writing support, comma wrangling)  
> Spiff (beta reader AND creator of Miri)  
> Duv (beta reader, live reader AND plotter of difficult action sequences)  
> Haz (beta reader and emotional support friend)  
> Sin (artist!!!!! reader and supporter!)  
> Ash (writer of incredible comments and always supportive and kind)  
> Poppy (sender of many blurry eyes and many excited comments)  
> Frey (lovely and loved reader and appreciator of Dark Gigi)  
> Ghost (leaver of very nice, detailed comments and galaxy brain chatter)  
> Andy (live reader and very nice person)  
> Rose (reader and artist of the most amazing Dark Gigi art that I love to look at, still)  
> annnnnnnd really everyone else who has read! Love you guys!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!!

Guillermo is dreaming of being human again. 

Nandor would clap his hands in delight if he had any, but he’s not quite corporeal in this dreamscape. He’s more like a mist, occasionally manifesting into a vaguely Nandor-shaped form before dissolving again. His excitement at seeing the little librarian is tempered by a hefty dose of guilt. Nandor hasn’t told Guillermo yet about his new ability and he’s not sure how Guillermo will react. _Is this an invasion?_ Surely, Guillermo has taken much more from Nandor in the past. _But it is not about being even, is it?_ And then there’s the other reason for his guilt. Is it disloyal to be so enamored with a past version of your current lover?

Hovering between shadowy stacks of books, Nandor watches the little human push a wooden cart up and down each aisle. His face is set in concentration as he scans the shelves, lovingly placing volume after volume in its rightful spot. Nandor tries to caress Memo’s rosy cheeks, but his fingertips fade to nothing before he can touch. All he can do is watch. 

_This_ Memo walks differently than _his_ Memo. His shoulders hunch forward and his head is often downcast. He shuffles his feet across the carpeted floor, occasionally gaining enough of a static charge to shock himself as he brushes past a metal call-number plaque. He looks small and sad. Lonely. Nandor recalls the kiss they shared in that phantom library; in that moment the human had radiated happiness and disbelief. As if he’d never dare to dream that he could have such a simple thing.

Guillermo pauses for longer than necessary over one particular book. He cradles it in his soft little hands, fingertips stroking the spine as he gazes down at the cover. Nandor drifts over his shoulder to peek: _When You Marry_ by Duvall and Hill. Beneath the title there is a photo of a man’s hand holding a lady’s hand. Guillermo runs his thumb over the man’s hand. The scene fades away before Nandor’s eyes…

They’re back in the unfamiliar little house where everything is neat as a pin but achingly solitary. On a plush couch upholstered in pale blue gingham, Guillermo sits with a large folio spread open in his lap. Nandor recognizes it as the book he’d seen during his first visit to Guillermo’s dreams.

He settles down beside Guillermo on the couch— as best he can in his intangible form. He directs his attention to Guillermo’s profile and finds the human’s glasses fogged up and his cheeks glistening with tears. He slowly flips the pages of the book; soft, gasping sobs hiccup from his throat. Every page is covered in pictures. Cut-outs from magazines and newspapers; photos and illustrations; technicolor and black-and-white. Every one of them shows a happy, smiling groom dressed in a sharp tuxedo. Pressed flowers and bits of lace are pasted onto the paper as well. It’s a wedding dream book for a man who doesn’t believe he’ll ever get the chance to have one.

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat draws Nandor’s attention. He turns and recoils at once, startled to be confronted by his own self. _Well, not quite_. This is Nandor as he once was: mortal. He’s dressed just like the men on the pages of Guillermo’s little book. His tall, sturdy frame is made sleek and elegant by the clean lines of the tuxedo jacket and trousers. His hair falls in waves over his shoulders, gleaming with silver and gold highlights. His skin still glows with the bronze warmth it once held in life. He looks… stunning. 

Guillermo’s breath stutters in his chest at the sight of Nandor’s dream-self. He stands abruptly to his feet, the album thunking, forgotten, onto the floor.

“Nandor,” he breathes, rushing forward and falling down to his knees before him. “Please, Nandor. Say yes this time. Please, please, just this once say you’ll marry me!”

_Just this...once? Has Guillermo been having this dream many times?_ Nandor watches, heart in his throat, as the other Nandor prepares to answer. 

His doppelganger’s face collapses into an anguished frown. “My master will not be permitting it, Guillermo!”

“I do!” Guillermo cries, wrapping his arms around Nandor’s legs, but they’ve already started to dissolve into a cloud of smoke. “I do, Nandor!” He sobs as the dream-Nandor fades away entirely.

Guillermo crumples to the floor, banging his fists against the carpet as he weeps. Nandor wants to lie down beside him and cry with him; wrap him up in a hug and shower kisses on his face. But no matter how hard Nandor tries, he can’t reach him.

  
  
  


He wakes with Guillermo clasped in his arms, hugged tightly to his chest. Despite the manhandling, the little vampire is deep asleep. The only sign that he is at all troubled is the pinch in his brow and the pucker of his lips into a slight frown. Nandor leans in and kisses those lips. 

“My Memo,” he whispers, brushing a stray curl from Guillermo’s forehead. His mate’s final words from the dream still ring in his ears. He tries them out, whispering them softly into the intimate darkness of their crypt. “I do.”

Guillermo doesn’t stir, but Nandor can’t leave him behind like that— crying and alone. He kisses him again, deeper this time. He runs his tongue along the seam of Guillermo’s lips, forcing them apart and delving inside. His hands cradle Guillermo’s strong, stubbled jaw as he licks into his mouth, groaning and pressing the heavy length of his body into Guillermo’s soft, giving form. _Wake up_ , he pleads, reaching through the ether. _Be with me._

Finally, Guillermo’s mouth moves in response to Nandor’s kiss. A low moan rumbles through his chest and into Nandor’s. His little hands come to life, trailing down Nandor’s sides and coming around to cup his buttocks.

“So sleepy,” Guillermo slurs while pressing sloppy kisses on Nandor’s lips. His voice is barely a whisper. “Baby, ‘m tired…”

Nandor shushes Guillermo and begins gyrating his pelvis against him. He delights in the sensation of Guillermo’s penis lengthening and filling through the thin fabric of his sleep shorts. “You do not have to do anything, Memo,” he says, reaching down to slip his hand under the hem of the shorts, wrapping his fingers around Guillermo and stroking him languorously. “Let me make you feel good.”

Guillermo hums in response, arching up slightly to meet Nandor’s touch. Nandor slides the shorts down and in another second his long pajama pants join them bunched up at the end of the bed. Guillermo’s eyes stay closed as Nandor manipulates his boneless limbs into a more accommodating position. “I love you, Memo,” he breathes, reaching between Guillermo’s legs and pressing the pad of his finger against his puckered entrance. 

The smallest mewl falls from Guillermo’s lips. “Love you, too,” he breathes.

Nandor makes quiet love to Guillermo. He patiently works him open as the older vampire pants softly, still half-asleep. When Guillermo is ready, Nandor takes his time. He presses inside of his sleepy lover, gasping at the feel of tight walls enveloping his erection. Guillermo’s face is innocent in his half-sleep. In the dark, he could almost be his human self. The thought sends a frisson of added arousal through Nandor’s penis and he thrusts deeper inside his lover. In a moment of revelation, he realizes he’s making love to _both_ Guillermos. Guillermo is half-asleep, one foot in the present and one in the past. Nandor wishes he could go back and take away every hurt and make Guillermo feel loved every day of his life. But all he can do is this. He takes hold of Guillermo’s erection, stroking him with firm, gentle fingers as he thrusts inside of him. 

“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,” he breathes over and over as they crest the wave together.

  
  
  


That evening, Nandor is distracted. Images from the dream play in his memory. The wedding photos… Guillermo’s sadness… his words… _I do_ . A decision starts to take shape. It fills him with alternating waves of gleeful excitement and sinking anxiety. One moment his lips curl into an irresistible grin, imagining holding hands with his Guillermo and walking down the aisle together. The next, his face falls; _what if he says no? What if Guillermo doesn’t want to be married anymore? What if he laughs?_

“Baby, are you okay? You don’t have to come to this meeting if you don’t want to.” They’re waiting in the front hallway for their guest to arrive. Guillermo looks up at Nandor with his brow furrowed in concern. _Does he remember his dream? Is he sad thinking of his human loneliness? Or angry at how weak he once was?_

Nandor cups Guillermo’s cheeks in his hands, bending down to lay a kiss on his forehead. He smiles in satisfaction when he sees the worry lines melt away. “I am okay, master.” He whispers the words, conscious of Nadja, Laszlo and Colin standing nearby. “Master” has become a verbal totem for Nandor. Something to take out when he’s feeling unsteady.

Guillermo nods before Laszlo’s voice cuts through the moment. “This chap’s keeping us waiting on purpose, isn’t he? The little shit thinks he can play games with the House of Guillermo?” He raises his voice and rolls his R’s with dramatic melodrama. 

Guillermo rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.”

Miri, Nan and Justin can be heard bustling around in the fancy room making last minute adjustments in preparation for the meeting. Nandor smells the fresh blood in the crystal decanter that Miri places with painstaking care on the sideboard. She flashes him a grin as they file out of the room. “Everything is ready, master.” 

He gives her a thumbs up.

Nandor wonders if the household was always this vibrantly busy and he simply failed to notice from his spot on the floor at Guillermo’s feet. He thinks not. These days the door is constantly opening and closing, admitting energy vampires, werewolves, witches— one time a babadook. Nandor still feels the occasional unsteadiness. Particularly when vampires visit and that uneasy recognition tugs at the back of his mind…

Their guest arrives and he feels the telltale shiver of fright as soon as he lays eyes on him. 

“ _I think I know him_ ,” he whispers to Guillermo, panic lacing his voice, as Justin shows the vampire into the fancy room. He has long, pale blond hair and icy eyes. He’s one of Simon’s Manhattan dukes— or he was. Powerful, with a sizable following of his own. Partnering with him will go a long way toward legitimizing Guillermo’s takeover.

Nandor can see the indecision flicker in Guillermo’s eyes before his face sets in resolve. “I’ll tell him to leave.”

The weight of power settles on Nandor’s shoulders at this moment. Guillermo is _his_ now, truly. He’ll do anything for Nandor, even sacrifice his political position… Warmth fills Nandor’s cold, dead chest. Guillermo really _is his_ … His doubt crumbles.

“No,” Nandor finally replies, straightening his spine. “I can do this.”

And he does. Although he doesn’t let go of Guillermo’s hand for the entire meeting.

Nandor isn’t alone in finding new confidence in the wake of Simon’s death. The whole atmosphere of the house feels lighter. As if a gloomy shroud has been lifted from its eaves and dormers. There’s a bright, loving energy all around. Even Nadja and Laszlo are affected. They don’t carry themselves with the certainty that an axe is about to fall anymore. And they’ve taken to Nandor since his transformation. Laszlo looks at him with new esteem and Nadja has begun bringing home “treats” for him from her hunts. The victims she selects for him always bear a striking resemblance to Guillermo. Something his mate finds both amusing and unnerving.

Best of all, Colin Robinson, with whom Nandor never had much interaction before, has become an ally. Not long after Nandor took over supervision of the thralls, Colin casually dropped into conversation that he’d managed the household’s financial portfolio for decades and that there was room in the budget for a payroll. It took several weeks to work out the arrangements, but they became the first vampire house in New York City to offer their thralls a salary. Plus benefits. And a 401k. 

The meeting goes smoothly. They discuss the success of the club under Laszlo’s new management. As well as the work that Guillermo has put into forging alliances with the other paranormal species in the city. By the end the blond vampire offers his grudging respect and a promise of fealty. If he gives Nandor any odd looks, they don’t last long under Guillermo’s baleful stare. 

The tension melts from Nandor’s shoulders as the door shuts behind their visitor. 

“I say—” Laszlo casts a mischievous, sidelong glance to Nadja. “ —Let’s celebrate. I haven’t been to the talkies in ages!”

Colin Robinson grins wide. “Yum!”

* * *

The scent of artificial butter nearly overwhelms the far more appetizing aroma of Nandor’s excitement. Guillermo stands in line beside his mate, who is practically vibrating with anticipation. The enthusiasm is infectious; Guillermo can’t help the fond smile that spreads his lips even as Nandor approaches the booth and requests five tickets to a children’s film about centaurs and witches. Nadja and Laszlo make no comment; they’ve spent the duration of their wait canoodling. And Colin Robinson doesn’t care what movie they watch as long as he can make his loud commentary for the duration.

Nandor turns to Guillermo with tickets in hand and a huge grin lighting up his face. “I haven’t been to the movie theater in so long, master!” he gushes as they cross the lobby. 

Laszlo surfaces for air long enough to comment, “Well, you may be disappointed, chap. You’ll find them almost unbearable with all the talking and the electronic music! They do keep the theaters nice and dark, though…” He buries his face into Nadja’s bosom and the female vampire shrieks in delight.

“Oh, I don’t know, Lasz,” Colin hedges, grinning from ear to ear. “They make them nice and long these days. Some movies have run times up to three hours! The nervous energy of a fanboy trying to hold his bladder on opening night of a new Star Wars movie? Delicious. And even after the movie ends there’s dessert: spoiling the plot for the folks waiting in line.”

Nandor nods politely but turns to Guillermo with a whispered aside, “Maybe we should be sitting separately from them, Guillermo…”

It’s been quite some time since Guillermo sat in a movie theater himself. He discovers a small thrill of wonder that unfurls in his chest as the lights dim and the silver screen comes to life. The spectacle of cinema is nothing compared to the one sitting beside him, though. Guillermo finds his eyes straying to Nandor’s rugged profile, limned in flickering white light. Once, a lifetime ago, Guillermo dreamed of taking a sweetheart on a date to the pictures. It felt impossible back then and for years and years he denied his own wish, content to accumulate power and prey on the emotions of those weaker than him. _Maybe_ … Maybe he was always waiting for Nandor. For his dream boy to come along...

Nandor catches him looking and offers Guillermo a shy smile. He reaches across the arm rest and takes Guillermo’s hand in his, entwining their fingers. Ignoring the coming attractions, he leans down to whisper into Guillermo’s ear, “This is like a first date, master. Like, if we met before everything…”

There’s something behind Nandor’s gaze that Guillermo can’t quite place. A knowing glint. Lately, Guillermo has been dwelling on his human past. He thinks back to his dream last night, the aching yearning and loneliness he felt. He wished his whole life for someone as handsome and kind as Nandor.

Guillermo swallows the lump that congeals in his throat, nodding with misty eyes and pressing a chaste kiss to Nandor’s lips. “I wish…” he trails off. Guillermo has wished for so very much in his long life.

“I know, master,” Nandor replies under his breath. “Me too.”

* * *

Now that Nandor has decided to ask Guillermo to marry him, a new kind of trepidation descends upon him. _How to ask?_ He dallies in thought that first night, and the one after, and the next one as well. A week passes and Nandor spends it with the happy knowledge that he’s going to have a fiancé, but with equal anxiety over how to go about making that happen. 

Nandor has spent so many years looking to others to make his decisions for him. He’s proud to make this one on his own, but that doesn’t mean he has to do everything by himself. He decides to seek out some advice. 

After searching all over the house, Nandor finds Miri in the fancy room. She’s balanced precariously on top of an ottoman, staring at her reflection in the giant, gilt-frame mirror and anxiously fiddling with her hair. _Not very safe of her to be climbing up on the furniture like that. She could fall and hurt herself!_

“Miri—?” As soon as the word leaves his mouth, the familiar jumps, wobbling dangerously on the plush cushion of the ottoman. Nandor flies through the air to catch her before she falls, setting her down on the floor with an admonishment. “Miri! Please, be more careful! The furnitures are not playthings!”

“Sorry, master,” she mutters, ducking her head in obvious mortifcation. Nandor can sympathize, of course.

“That is alright,” he assures her in a calmer tone. “It is only that I do not wish for you to fall and break your leg or something, okay?”

Her plump lips curve in a shy smile and she nods her understanding. 

“Very good. Now, I am wondering if you would like me to accompany you to the Costco for the grocery shoppings?” Nandor smiles hopefully. “You are very tiny and I can help with reaching the big boxes on the high shelves.” _And we can have a nice chat about how I should propose to my vampire boyfriend…_

Miri looks away from him with a frown. _Strange._

“Oh! Well, actually—” She’s interrupted by someone clearing their throat in the doorway.

“Hey, Miri. You ready to go?” It is one of the werewolf watchmen that Guillermo hired. The big one…

Nandor furrows his brow in confusion and looks back at Miri. She smells different. And her heartbeat has increased! She bites her lip but can’t suppress the smile that dimples her cheeks. “I’ll be out in a minute, Toby.”

The werewolf nods, smiling with a highly disrespectful glimmer in his eye. _Fucking guy!_

“Miri? What is the meaning of this… _Toby_ making faces at you?”

Miri giggles. Nandor has never heard her giggle before! Unwanted jealousy flares in his chest. 

“He… _likes_ me, master,” Miri explains in a low voice. She finally locks eyes with him and continues, “And I like him too.” Nandor gawps at her like a stupid fish. A moment of silence passes and Miri seems to lose her nerve. “If— If that’s okay, I mean. Master.”

Finally, Nandor recovers himself. He spent years not being allowed to feel his own feelings. He is not about to do that to Miri. “Well, of course it is okay, Miri. If you are really liking him and if he is nice to you. Is he nice to you?”

Miri’s smile lights up her whole face. “He’s so nice, master.”

“Well…” Nandor feels the oddest compulsion to pull rank, to whine and complain. Every night he discovers something new about himself. His personality is slowly unfurling now that he no longer lives moment-to-moment in a gauntlet of pain and trauma. Tonight he learns that he can be bossy. “Where is he taking you? Tonight is the night that you go to Costco for the groceries.”

Miri looks flustered, but bravely soldiers onward. “We’re going to get something to eat for dinner first and then do the grocery shopping after. He’ll help me reach all the high shelves, master,” she adds the last bit as if it will assuage Nandor’s concern rather than stoke his feelings of jealousy at being replaced. 

“Well…” He forces a smile. Miri may be his familiar but she is not _his_. “Well, have a fun time. Call me immediately if he is disrespectful to you!”

“Thank you, master!” she gushes, grabbing hold of his sleeve and hopping on tip-toe to peck him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home in time to tuck you and Master Guillermo into bed.”

A frozen smile graces Nandor’s lips as he watches his familiar leave with the big, smelly werewolf. Toby gives Nandor a little half salute before closing the front door. Nandor growls ever so slightly. 

He’s about to spin around and flee to his crypt when Nadja appears in the doorway to the library with a sympathetic smile. “Your familiar is off with her werewolf paramour, is she?”

“You knew!?” 

“I have been smelling her arousal for days! It peaks whenever he is near. It is like a very spicy hummus. Quite alluring, actually.” She trails off with a dreamy look in her eyes before rushing to add, “Of course, you know Laszlo and I would never touch any of your human pets, Nandy.”

Nandor considers correcting her turn of phrase but he doesn’t have the energy. He can’t blame Miri. He is proud of her, really. Maybe this Toby will help her in the ways that Nandor cannot. Still, he makes a mental note to see if Colin Robinson will do one of his background checks on the man. Just in case. And he is still disappointed that he will not have her to confide in this evening.

Nandor knows from first hand experience that Nadja can be callous and cruel, but she is also shrewd and observant. She must read his deflated feelings in the set of his shoulders and the way he hangs his head.

“Come here, sweet boy,” she steps forward and takes him by the arm, leading him into the library. “You can tell mama all about it while I do your nails.” She glances down at his blunt nails and ragged cuticles with a curled lip.

Nandor follows her with a feeling of bemusement. Things may have changed between them since his turning, but he can’t help recalling her sneering cruelties when he was still human. He wonders if all this— the humans she picks for him, her mothering kindness now— is her way of making amends.

“Now, what color would you like, my darling?” She’s set up a card table on which are arrayed a multitude of little colorful bottles of nail lacquer. Most of them are shades that Nadja prefers: dark red, mauve, black for Laszlo. Nandor picks up the brightest option, a royal violet with a sparkly sheen. Nadja smirks at his selection. “Guillermo will love it. Now, first I must do something about these nail beds…”

Nadja doesn’t force conversation. She hums under breath as she works, gently holding Nandor’s fingers in her own as she grooms his nails. Once he would have recoiled from her touch. But he recalls what Guillermo told him about Nadja and Laszlo giving their blood to ensure his successful turning. Neither she nor her husband has ever mentioned it, but Nandor suddenly feels as though he should thank her. 

As if sensing his mood, Nadja finally prompts, “Now, Nandor, tell me what is rattling around that turkey brain of yours this evening. I have been sensing it for days! You’re buzzing like a dung beetle trapped in a glass jar.”

And just like that Nandor can no longer keep it in. He smiles nervously, darting a glance over his shoulder to ensure he’s not overheard before whispering, “Nadja, how did you ask Laszlo to be marrying you?”

Nadja’s eyes light up with a gleam of passionate interest he’s never before witnessed from her. “A wedding! It has been ages since I have witnessed an unholy matrimony. Nandor, this is wonderful and just what that repressed idiot needs.”

“Yes, but how—?”

Nadja’s lips twist into a frown of concentration as she considers her answer. “Well, Laszlo and I became engaged one evening after we had slaughtered a family together. We were both naked and covered in blood and I exacted his vow before I would allow him to finish…” She pauses and takes in Nandor’s uncomfortable grimace. “Something a little less dramatic for you and our dear Guillermo, I think…”

  
  
  


“No, no, no, my darling! He needs a cape! We can’t have him looking like a common trollop when he’s down on one knee!”

“Laszlo, please! Try to be lowering your voice. Guillermo will hear!” 

“My darkest night, I love you, but you are an idiot. They did not wear capes in the 1950s!”

Nandor is standing on a stool in the middle of Laszlo and Nadja’s crypt. He’s fidgeting with nervous agitation and darting glances at the doorway every other moment. Maybe this was a mistake. He doesn’t look anything like the image Guillermo had in his dream…

Nadja and Laszlo have decided that Nandor should go for a theme with his proposal. Specifically: the 1950s, the time Guillermo was mortal. At first, Nandor thinks it is a good idea. Guillermo has been dreaming so much of his human life and he was wishing so very much to have a husband back then. Maybe this will be like his dreams coming true. 

Now, standing between two bickering vampires wearing a baby blue tuxedo jacket with sleeves that cut off well above his wrists, Nandor is having doubts. He’s working up the courage to interrupt their argument when Guillermo suddenly appears in the doorway with a puzzled expression.

“What are you two doing to him!?” He strides into the room, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes his black turtleneck hug the curves of his plush chest. Nandor is frozen in place, one arm raised slightly to allow Laszlo to measure his sleeve. 

“What does it look like, Guillermo? We’re fitting your boyfriend for a new suit. Stylish, yes?” Laszlo comments around a mouthful of sewing needles. 

Guillermo pinches the bridge of his nose and fails to suppress a smile of amusement as his eyes rake over Nandor’s absurd outfit. Nandor snatches his arm away from Laszlo and ducks his head in embarrassment. 

“Do you want to be wearing that, baby?” Guillermo steps forward and catches Nandor’s eyes. He takes one of Nandor’s hands and squeezes it. “It looks...uh… uncomfortable.”

Nandor shakes his head and shrugs off the jacket, stepping down from his stool with a quick, apologetic look to Nadja.

Guillermo glares at them as he ushers Nandor out of the room. “He’s not a doll for you two to play with!”

“Are you alright, baby?” he asks once they’re back in their crypt. He cups Nandor’s bearded cheeks and looks up into his eyes. “What was that all about?”

Nandor smiles blankly as he tries to come up with some plausible explanation. “Nadja wanted to… do a play and we were trying on costumes.”

Guillermo arches one perfect, elegant brow. Sometimes Nandor forgets how connected they are now. He can feel Guillermo’s skepticism through the ether, but he seems to decide to let the matter drop. “Just as long as they weren’t forcing you, baby…”

Nandor shakes his head to reassure him before bending down and pressing his lips to Guillermo’s. Guillermo is so soft. Once, it surprised Nandor how a vampire capable of such cold cruelty and casual violence could feel so delicate to the touch. But now Nandor pictures the fragile human Guillermo once was and it makes sense. Guillermo is not all fearsome vampire and exacting master, nor is he all tender lover and secret, yearning romantic. He’s all those things and something more. He’s Nandor’s Guillermo.

All at once Nandor knows what to do.

  
  
  


It takes him a few nights of secret crafting. He tells Guillermo that he is doing more team-building exercises with the thralls, but really he is painstakingly recreating a book that he’s seen only once. Miri picks up the supplies at Costco: a blank journal, craft glue, glitter… so much glitter. Colin Robinson helps Nandor print the photos from his phone. Nadja helps him with the calligraphy on the cover. Laszlo even offers to take some “boudoir” photos of Nandor to spice things up. Nandor declines. In the end it is not exactly as he remembers it from the phantom library. But it’s still perfect. 

Nandor adds the finishing touch: a strip of paper on the spine with a call number transcribed in his own shaky hand. 306.81. Marriage.

* * *

“Master?”

Guillermo looks up from his phone to find Nandor hovering diffidently in the doorway to the crypt. He’s dressed nicer than usual in dark wash jeans and a midnight blue button down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, showing off the pale, muscled expanse of Nandor’s forearms and the alluring dark hair that coats his body. He has his long mane up in a topknot and Guillermo notices he’s wearing his “lucky scrunchy.” Lucky, Nandor has explained, because it was the first one Guillermo ever bought him and he felt like a lucky boy when he got it. A pang echoes through Guillermo’s chest at the memory.

Nandor shifts his weight from foot to foot, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and smiling shyly. He hasn’t looked this nervous in some time.

“Yeah, baby?” Guillermo finally answers, setting his phone down on the bed. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing!” Nandor insists, coming over to stand by the bed. “It is only that I am having some difficulty locating one of my books in the library. Can you come help me for a second?”

Guillermo lets out a breath and nods. “Of course, baby.”

Nandor leads him down the hallway to the library and Guillermo immediately senses something off. The house is eerily quiet. No moans or yelling from Nadja and Laszlo’s crypt. No sounds of thralls going about their chores. Guillermo even feels Colin Robinson’s absence, like a negative energy signature in the atmosphere of the house.

“Where is everyone?” He asks, but Nandor only shrugs.

“Out,” he answers simply. 

The library, at least, feels the same as ever. A fire crackles merrily and the warm glow of candles illuminates the papered-over windows and chock-full bookshelves.

Guillermo turns to Nandor. “Which book are you looking for, baby?” Nandor hands him a slip of paper on which Guillermo recognizes his mate’s painfully rendered hand-writing. Guillermo wonders if Nandor always had messy penmanship or if it is a result of being out of practice for decades. The thought is just one of the dozens of tiny heartbreaks that Guillermo feels every night. He’s learned to accept that they come along with loving Nandor. After a moment he recognizes the call number and looks back at Nandor in confusion. “You don’t have any books under this call number…”

Nandor’s warm brown eyes reflect the light of the candles. He smiles mischievously and tugs Guillermo along in the correct direction. “Just help me find it, please.”

Guillermo plays along, suddenly feeling like at any moment his heart will come back to life and begin fluttering madly in his chest. Secret fantasies that he’s long-since buried spring to the forefront of his mind. But, no. Even after everything, Guillermo still tamps down his excitement. That can’t be what this is. He doesn’t deserve to be so happy.

The book jumps out at him: a shock of hot pink amidst dull shades of brown and black. His eyes dart to Nandor’s and he finds his ex-familiar fiddling nervously with the scrunchie in his hair and rocking on the balls of his feet. “What could that be?” Nandor offers in a tone of transparently feigned curiosity.

“Nandor, what—?”

Nandor takes the book off the shelf and presses it into Guillermo’s hands. “Open it, master.”

Guillermo grips it in shaking hands. Both front and back covers are coated in layers and layers of pink glitter. Ornate, purple script spells out the title: _Corazón_. He traces each letter before gently opening the book, cradling the spine in one hand so as not to crack it. 

“Baby—” Guillermo breathes. Nandor comes around to stand behind him, propping his chin on Guillermo’s shoulder as they both look down at the first page. 

Guillermo recognizes the photo at once. He traces his fingertip over the image of Nandor beaming up at the camera, his skin still bright and glowing with life. Guillermo looks pallid in comparison, but he’s smiling, too. The picture reminds him of those moments before everything. When Guillermo could lose himself in pretending that they were real. And now— 

He cranes his neck and plants a kiss on Nandor’s lips, almost crying as he whispers, “Thank you, baby.”

— Now they are real.

“Keep going!” Nandor urges with a nervous little laugh.

Page after page of photos. Some are from before Nandor’s turning, but most of them are from after. Selfies taken in bed or snuggled up on the couch. Photos taken by Miri of Nandor and Guillermo posing with arms around each other. Guillermo has always been vain about his appearance and grooming, but he’s never been one for portraiture like Laszlo and Nadja. Looking at himself in all of these pictures, he’s shocked to recognize the change that has taken place since he began loving Nandor. He looks truly happy. 

He turns to the last page and gasps. It’s taken up by a gorgeous portrait made entirely from glitter. They stand side by side, holding hands and dressed and beaming in incandescent happiness. They’re dressed up in tuxedos and standing at an altar adorned with red roses.

“Nandor, are you—?”

Before he can finish Nandor comes around to stand in front of him and starts lowering himself to one knee. Guillermo panics, shoving the book back onto the shelf and grabbing Nandor by the shoulders. He hauls him back to a standing position and pleads in a frantic tone. “No, baby. Not on your knees. Please.”

Nandor nods, a soft sob catching in his throat. “Guillermo,” he starts, his voice cracking. Guillermo grabs both of his hands and holds them tight, nearly crushing the bones. Nandor takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, before trying again. “Guillermo, I have seen your dreams. I have— I have been meeting you when you were still human. When I was… before I woke up when you made me a vampire. I met him and he was so lonely. And still I am feeling him inside of you and I know that you are him and that you still want— I mean, I hope that you still want…” He trails off, swallowing once before he continues in a firmer tone, “I have decided that we will be married.”

The matter of fact tone knocks a laugh out of Guillermo’s lungs even as he wrangles with the idea of his baby somehow meeting him in the past? 

“Oh?” he manages.

“Yes,” Nandor insists and though his tone is confident, Guillermo can feel his hands shaking. “If I would be asking you to marry me, then I know you would be saying something like, ‘Oh, no, Nandor. I am not deserving you. You’re too good and handsome and perfect for me.’” Guillermo snorts another laugh. “Well, now that you are not my master anymore, I can make my own decisions and I have decided. So that is that. We will be married.” Nandor gives a solid, officious nod that’s belied only a little bit by his quiet, whispered addition of “ _please._ ”

It takes a minute for Guillermo to swallow the lump in his throat. For once he tastes his own feelings: awe, surprise, happiness, and unadulterated, 100-proof, bone-deep love. Tears slip down his cheeks as he finally answers, “Okay. You’re the boss, baby.”

* * *

“We’re going to be husbands!” Nandor cries before pulling Guillermo into a fierce embrace and claiming his mouth. He kisses both Guillermos: his tender yet cunning vampiric boyfriend and the soft, fragile little human librarian. Guillermo’s gorgeous soft body melts into his as their tongues dance together. Nandor growls low in his throat when he feels Guillermo’s hand creep up to the bun on top of his head and pluck out his lucky scrunchie. Guillermo nips playfully at his lower lip in return. 

_For the briefest flash Nandor is back in that shadowy tunnel of books, standing beside human Memo. The little man looks up at him with a soft smile, his lips still singing with their kiss._

_“You’re almost there, Nandor,” mortal Guillermo comments and Nandor furrows his brows in confusion. “Just the one last thing…”_

_“What are you meaning?” Nandor whispers._

_Guillermo gets up on his tiptoes and pecks a kiss to Nandor’s cheek before whispering, “Remember.”_

Their kiss ends in breathless nips and tongues stroking over plump lips. Nandor leans his forehead against Guillermo’s, speechless. Memories spark to life in the dark shadows of his brain. _Birthdays… Thanksgiving dinners… school plays and graduations… Faces and names that feel both foreign and hauntingly familiar._ It takes Nandor’s breath away just as surely as the kiss.

“I’m so happy, baby,” Guillermo whispers, bringing Nandor back into the moment. 

He looks down into Guillermo’s impossibly wide, dark eyes— eyes that once seemed soulless and barren— and the love he sees there is worth every moment of pain Nandor has ever experienced. 

The memories can wait a little while longer. 

Nandor smiles back, eyes crinkling with delight. “Me too, _Memo_!”

They stay like that, wrapped up in each other, for a long time. For once neither of them is dwelling on what’s passed between them, instead they’re each thinking of what’s to come. Guillermo finally gives Nandor a rib cracking squeeze and tilts his head back to ask, “How should we tell the others?”

As if on cue, the front door slams open and a cacophony of voices and footsteps can be heard from the front hallway as the entire household seems to arrive home all at once. Nandor grins down at Guillermo, his eyes dancing with excitement before he calls out in a loud, confident voice. 

“HOUSE MEETING!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark Gigi will return.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just Like a Real Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28324194) by [HeartlessMemo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo)




End file.
